


Where You Come to Escape

by celestialskiff



Category: Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Ageplay, M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/pseuds/celestialskiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noel needs to use his kinks to cope with his problems. Julian's willing to help him out with that. Originally posted on Blue Boosh in 2008. This version contains some parts that were originally posted privately. WARNINGS: watersports, ageplay, slight D/s, references to and descriptions of past childhood abuse, RPS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yesterday's Street

**Author's Note:**

> This started on the first Boosh kink meme back in early 2008. I worked on it for around a year, and it evolved and changed in numerous ways. It won't read like a coherent fic, but it contains various snapshots from the same timeline. I've decided to finally put it all in one place, so anyone who does want to read it can do so.

The air was hazy, and orange smog stuck to the horizon, sticking sourly to the roof of the mouth. Noel kept touching his hair and ducking his chin into the collar of his jacket. After the gig, he’d put his arms around Julian’s neck and whispered, “you were great,” into his cheek.

Julian had shrugged him off, but that never seemed to deter Noel. He’d just brought him a drink and nuzzled him again.

“You’re so shameless,” Julian said.

Noel nodded and grabbed Julian’s wrist. “Can we go back to your place?”

It was much easier to say yes than try to fend him off all night.

“I’ve never been in your flat before,” Noel said as they walked through grimy streets.

“I know. I don’t usually let strange men follow me into my flat.”

“You’ve been to mine loads of times. You burnt that hole in my floor and everything.”

“The state of your floor, I don’t know how you can tell.”

“That paint is there for a purpose. It’s called artistic expression.”

“Don’t be so pretentious.”

Noel collided with him gently. “You’ve not said if you like my new hair.”

“It’s got bits of blond in it.”

“Yeah. They’re called highlights.”

“I know they’re called highlights.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do you like them?”

Julian sighed. “I’m taking you back to my flat, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, you are.” Noel grabbed his wrist again and kissed him at the corner of his lip.

“Fucking wait until we get back, can’t you?”

Noel grinned, and tried again. He smelt like smoke and hair gel and something else, something earthier. His breath was very warm on Julian’s cheek and Julian pushed him away before he lost all ability to resist.

Inside, he could see the drops of rain in Noel’s hair and how thin his t-shirt was. He looked unexpected standing in Julian’s living room, like he did not quite fit.

He looked around with mild interest. “Walls are a bit bare, aren’t they?”

Julian slid his arms around the skinny waist, “shut up.” Noel grinned and kissed him again, all tongue and teeth. What he lacked in technique, he invariably made up for in enthusiasm.

He pressed his lithe body up against Julian and rubbed their crotches together. Noel was already hard, but with the friction of denim and cock against him and Noel nipping at his neck, he soon was too.

“Mm,” Noel murmured in his ear, “fuck.”

“Yeah,” Julian said, and fumbled with the zip on Noel’s jeans, grasping the cock in a warm hand. Noel groaned in his ear and ran his hands across Julian’s chest, undoing buttons and searching for nipples.

Noel’s hands slid down and clung to the back of his jeans as Julian teased his cock. He sucked at the space between his collarbones and then nipped at skin below before ducking his head and beginning to lick the nipples. He blew on the left nub and then sucked at it, teeth grazing skin.

“Let’s… We should go my bedroom.”

“Hmm?” Noel drew away, cheeks flushed, cock standing out of his jeans. “Yeah, ok.”

He grabbed Julian’s wrist again as they walked, reluctant to break contact. Julian squeezed his arse and Noel gave a sudden, brilliant smile.

They knelt on the bed, suddenly a little shy in the face of pillows and lamps. Julian grabbed Noel, kissing him again, mouth open, Noel sucking his tongue. Julian dragged Noel’s t-shirt off him. He’d seen the chest once before and his hands remembered the contours of skin over bone. Noel surged up against him, cock throbbing against Julian’s stomach.

“You’re going to fuck me,” Noel said breathlessly into Julian’s ear, and Julian nodded, nipping at Noel’s neck.

The bedside table was littered with ash and wrappers, but Julian found what he needed with ease. Noel watched as he tore open the condom, his heart pounding in his ears. The curtains were open and the hall light was on, casting two different sets of shadows. This is finally happening, Noel’s brain was screaming, but at the same time with a strange, urgent clarity, he was noticing the patterns of light falling on Julian’s back and the tenseness in his shoulders.

He leant forward, licking the back of Julian’s neck, tasting salty skin. Julian turned around, big hands on his shoulders, panting. Noel met his eyes, and lay down on the duvet, drawing his legs up. Julian’s hands brushed his thighs, and then he reached for Noel’s cock, and pumped it once, and slid his hands down to Noel’s arse and teased his entrance with a dry finger.

The lube was cold, and made Noel’s breath hitch, and his cock twitch. Julian slid one finger in and then two. Noel looked at his face; it was tense, concentrating. He bit his lip, feeling a third finger and drew his knees closer to his chest.

“More.”

“More,” Julian said, and leant forward, hand on the mattress behind Noel’s shoulder, supporting himself as he eased in. Noel groaned, muscles contracting around him, mouth open and lips wet.

Noel’s cock was trapped between their bellies as Julian thrust into him, rhythm deep and even. Noel clenched back and reached a hand between them, fingers around his own cock as Julian fucked him. Julian’s neck was thrust up and Noel could see the beads of sweat on his chest. He closed his eyes, Julian throbbing within him and his hand unevenly stroking his cock.

Julian moaned and came, cock twitching within Noel. Noel felt dizzy with sensation, digging his free hand into the mattress. Julian pushed Noel’s hand away and gripped his cock, and pumped it, once, twice. He moaned, arching his back, cock throbbing, and finally he was coming, too, semen sticking to his Julian’s hand and to his own belly.

*

He woke up because Noel was murmuring in his ear. They’d fallen asleep tangled together, Noel with his head uncomfortably crushing Julian’s shoulder, and one of his legs pressed between Julian’s. At first, Julian thought he was trying to tell him something, but he quickly realised Noel was just talking in his sleep.

He could make out individual words, like “no” and “I” and “please”, but mainly it was just mumbling. He ran his hand along Noel’s back, and was just about to wake him, when Noel let out a long, sighing gasp, and stilled. For a second Julian relaxed, and then he felt a sudden heat against his leg and heard, in the quiet room, a telltale hiss.

For a second, he thought about drawing away, but his leg was trapped between Noel’s and he couldn’t do it without waking him. The heat was unexpected, but wonderfully syrupy and intoxicating. Julian flexed his muscles, feeling it trickling along his skin and pooling under him, on the mattress.

Noel murmured again and Julian wrapped another arm around him, stroking his back. Noel had always seemed a bit naïve to him, but at this moment he was totally helpless, and Julian didn’t want to think that he was suffering. Julian felt his cock stirring as the flow began to ebb. His skin was sticky and very hot. He shifted gently, and felt how big the pool was, extending from under his knee to the bottom of his arse.

He felt Noel stiffen against him, and heard a gentle, quavering, “oh, fuck.”

“It’s ok.”

Noel sat up and drew his legs up to his chest, rubbing the heel of his hand frantically against his eyes. It was obvious that he was trying not to cry.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, looking at his knees. “I’m… I didn’t mean to… I…”

“It’s ok,” Julian said, and slid closer to Noel, putting his arm around his shoulders.

Noel drew in a long breath. “You don’t have to be nice to me. I’m sorry. I know it’s disgusting.”

“It’s not, Noel. It’s not.”

“I just… get these nightmares, and I…” He let out a choked sob. “Do you want me to go?”

“Noel! Don’t be stupid.” Julian wrapped both his arms around Noel and pulled him back against his chest. Noel clung on, pressing his face into Julian’s neck. It was damp and warm, like the bed. Julian ran his fingers through Noel’s hair.

“Do you have nightmares a lot?”

Noel nodded. “Yeah. I… I’m sorry, Julian.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” Julian said. “You can’t help it.”

“No, but. I’m horrible. And I really liked you, and you’re never going to let me sleep with you again and…”

“Shut up. Stop being an idiot. Put your hand on my cock.”

Noel’s breath hitched, and he wordlessly reached down. Noel’s piss on his skin and the earthy smell in the room were turning Julian on more than he liked to think about. Noel’s fingers stilled as they found the erection, and then began to explore it eagerly. He stroked it gently, his fingers very soft.

“You liked that?” Noel said.

“Yes.”

Julian was sitting half on the pool of piss and Noel pressed his fingers to the damp cloth and ran them over Julian’s cock. He began to pump slowly and peeled the duvet out of the way with his other hand. Julian drew his knees up to give Noel better access, and Noel ran his fingers over Julian’s wet arse and sticky thighs. He let go of Julian’s cock and licked his way down Julian’s thigh tasting his own salty urine.

“God, Noel…” Julian hissed, as the tongue explored further, licking under his balls and tasting the wet musk of his arse. Noel looked up at Julian. His eyes were wide, a little out of focus; a look Julian would soon become familiar with.

He pressed his palms to Julian’s thighs and his face into Julian’s crotch, nuzzling at the dark hair. Finally, he began to lick Julian’s cock, starting to lick delicately at the base and lapping along the shaft. He blew on the head and Julian reached down, grabbing his shoulder, urging him on.

He licked more, starting at the base and sucking on the shaft. He reached the head and took it into his mouth and began to suck. Julian gasped, his cock throbbing in Noel’s mouth. Noel’s piss was still warm on his skin and Noel was sucking him with almost too much enthusiasm. He dug his fingernails into Noel’s shoulder and Noel swallowed around him.

“I’m gonna…”

“Yeah.” Noel had swallowed his come.

“You’re not supposed to do that… You don’t know me that well…” Julian said blearily. Noel slid back up against his side, and Julian hugged him.

“You let me piss on you. You’re never going to get rid of me now. We’ll get to know each other pretty well.”

“So this happens to you a lot?”

“Yeah,” Noel said softly. “It’s not that bad. I mean, waking up wet isn’t that bad. I could live without the dreams.”

“Hmmm,” Julian closed his eyes, one hand on Noel’s neck.

“Don’t go to sleep. You need to have a shower. Going to sleep in a wet bed isn’t a good idea.”

Noel’s skin was fairly clean because he’d pissed onto Julian not himself, but he followed Julian into the bathroom regardless. He sat on the toilet lid as Julian showered. From where Noel sat the shower curtain didn’t obscure him at all, so Julian could watch him as pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and drew in long, shuddering breaths.


	2. If they knew how

He sat behind Julian. He knew Julian was watching him, had watched him since he entered the room, shaking the wind out of his hair and undoing the buttons on his wrinkled leather jacket. Noel had smiled at him, eyes meeting his; Julian had nodded.

Now Noel dangled his drink over Julian’s shoulder. “Want some?”

“It’s blue.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Noel leant forward, over the back of the seat, so his cheek was flush with Julian’s.

“Why can’t you sit next to me like a normal person?”

“Variety. Maybe you’ve got a back of the neck to die for.”

“Have I?”

Noel traced it lightly with one finger, cool from holding the drink. Julian suppressed a shiver. “Don’t fish for compliments.”

“All you do is fish for compliments.”

“Shh,” Noel said, nudging Julian’s cheek with his own. “I put a lot of effort in. I deserve compliments. You’ve been wearing that shirt for a week.”

“I’ve not. I’ve got two the same.”

“Well, that’s even worse,” Noel said, slurping his drink in Julian’s ear. “Are you on tonight?”

“No,” Julian turned his head slightly, just in time to witness Noel licking blue droplets off the side of his mouth. “Are you?”

“No. Just here to find out if they’re better than us.”

“They won’t be,” Julian said, with a cheery confidence he did not feel.

“Writing’s been going well, hasn’t it? I can’t wait to get on a stage with you.” Noel slid a hand over Julian’s shoulder, rested it lightly on his chest.

“Stop that.”

“You’re so boring,” Noel said, and nudged his cheek again.

“Piss off. Drink your silly blue drink and let me watch this bloke.”

“Alright,” Noel moved his head away. “But Julian? He’s terrible.”

He was. Julian kept turning his head, looking at Noel, but he’d struck up a conversation with a brunette girl beside him, and paid no attention. Julian sighed, shifting in his chair, watching as Noel made her laugh. Everyone was restless, no one really listening to the stand-up. Julian eased out past the crowd of chairs surrounding him and bought a drink.

Noel sidled up to him with such immediacy that Julian wondered if his engrossed appearance in the conversation with the girl had been an affectation. “You going to buy me a drink?”

“No,” Julian said, and put his hand on Noel’s wrist briefly. “Can we go?”

Years later, it would be rare for Noel to leave a social gathering early, but now he and Julian often left these things quickly, after a drink or two, Noel’s insistent hands making Julian give up all thought of staying, of talking to anyone but him. It was dark outside, and the air tasted like smoke. Noel leant against Julian, pretending to be more drunk than he was. Julian slid an arm down his back, groping his arse. Noel giggled, happy, nudging Julian’s neck with his cold nose.

*

That night he woke again to Noel murmuring in his arms. It hadn’t happened since the first night they’d slept together. Their bodies fit more comfortably together now; their rhythms in sleep did not disturb each other. Julian found Noel’s back and put a hand on it, rubbing gently. The image of Noel sitting in the steamy bathroom trying not to cry bothered Julian, but the memory of the feeling of hot piss on his skin followed him even more persistently.

So he didn’t wake him, but circumspectly slid his thigh closer to Noel’s crotch, and put his other arm on Noel’s shoulder, trying to hold him comfortingly. Suddenly Noel sat bolt upright, bursting free of Julian’s limbs, breath coming in frantic gasps.

“Noel!” Julian said, and put a hand on his shoulder. Noel shook it off immediately, looked at him, eyes out of focus, unseeing.

“Please,” he said, his voice trapped.

“Noel?” Julian said more softly.

“Julian,” Noel replied, blinking. “Fuck.”

He kicked the bedclothes off and went into the bathroom, shutting the door with a slow click. Julian sat up, drawing a hand across his eyes. His cock had hardened at the images of Noel wetting himself that had filled his head, and he put his hand on the warm space vacated by Noel’s body blearily.

He sat there for so long his back got cold, but the image of Noel’s unseeing eyes remained fresh in his mind. He walked across the cold floor to the bathroom, and tapped on the door once, softly.

There was no sound, so he pushed it open. Noel hadn’t turned the light on, but he could see him in the dim city glow that filtered through the window. He was on the floor, knees pressed to his chest, the side of one hand in his mouth. He was biting it, stuffing his mouth with it to disguise any sounds.

“Noel?” Julian asked, and Noel stiffened, and then looked up.

His mouth moved, but he didn’t say anything. Julian slid onto the cold tiles beside him, and put a hand on his wrist.

“Come back to bed.”

Noel shook his head. His cheeks were pink.

“Noel.” Julian didn’t know what to do. He put a hand on Noel’s shoulder.

“Stop being so nice to me,” Noel said in a choked voice.

“Why?” Julian said. And then, “you should come back to bed. It’s freezing down here. Or put some clothes on at least.”

Noel nodded, but didn’t move. His eyes were wet.

“Come on,” Julian said, and grabbed his wrist. Noel stiffened, and then allowed himself to be pulled up.

He sat stiffly in bed, knees drawn up. “What were you dreaming about?” Julian asked him.

Noel shifted. “Dunno,” he said, eventually. “I’m sorry I woke you. Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

Julian put a hand on his shoulder, wanting to hold him again, but Noel curled up on the other side of the bed, as far away from Julian as possible, drawing his knees up to his chest, and tucking his head down, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible.

Julian watched the little lump of him for a long time, but didn’t say anything, and gradually he fell back to sleep.

*

Noel woke him, nuzzling at his neck, slim hands on his thighs, his crotch.

“Mm,” Julian said, cock stirring, “feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Noel said softly, licking beneath his collarbones. “Sorry about all that.”

“It’s ok,” Julian said, running his fingers through Noel’s hair. The blond highlights had softened a little and they suited him better. He tugged gently at the strands. Noel threw a leg over his hips and squirmed a little against his side. Julian slid a hand down to his arse and Noel licked his chest, tongue flicking against his nipples.

Julian grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him back up, kissed him, tasting sour alcohol and stale cigarettes.

Noel groaned in the back of his throat, squirming again against Julian’s side. He stilled, turning his head down, embarrassed. “I’ve got to go and piss,” he said, breath hot on Julian’s chest.

“Go here,” Julian said immediately, and then paused, bit his lip.

“What?” Noel asked, shifting up along Julian’s body so they were eye to eye. “I know you liked it that time before…”

“Yeah,” Julian said. Then more confidently, “yeah, I liked it.”

“It’s really bad for the bed,” Noel said with a laugh.

“I don’t care,” Julian said, and caught Noel’s hips, pulling him over so that he was straddling him.

“Mm,” Noel said, and shifting his hips, touched his cock with one hand. Julian’s cock twitched at the sight of him biting his lips, squirming a little bit.

“You were so helpless,” Julian said. “And the heat on my skin.”

Noel squeezed his cock with one hand. “Do you really want me to do this? Because I’m not going to have much choice in a minute.”

“Yes,” Julian said, and sat up; pulling Noel to him so they were face to face, his hard cock grinding against Noel’s stomach. Noel kissed him lightly and gave a faint moan. Julian felt the heat immediately, spreading across his stomach, and over his crotch, pooling beneath him. It began slowly, a luxurious spread of heat over skin, and then more poured across him, getting trapped at the tops of his thighs, a searing, wonderful heat on his cock.

“Fuck, Noel,” he whimpered, burying his head in Noel’s neck, body quivering against Noel’s. He could smell the lovely musk filling the room, the smell that was so intimately Noel and so raw and tangy. He slid a finger under Noel’s arse and felt the droplets there. Noel smiled at him, and took the finger in his mouth, sucking hard, tongue vibrating against his skin.

He thrust against Noel as the flow ended, feeling his skin burning from the wet heat and sticking to Noel’s; thrust into the cleft of Noel’s arse, droplets sticking to his thighs and Noel’s; groaning as the scent overpowered him. Noel’s muscles squeezed him back. He flopped down against the mattress, limbs turned to rubber.

“Oh, fuck, Noel,” he said, shaft of his cock throbbing against Noel’s hole. Noel clenched his arse cheeks; bending over Julian, warm arms against his shoulders, wet skin meeting wet skin. Julian shivered with need, gasping for breath.

Noel slid down his body, gently licking the wet skin of his stomach, knees on the damp sheets. Julian twitched, cock throbbing, desperate for friction. Noel slid down further and suddenly Julian felt the insistent tongue on his arse, and then, further, dipping into the cleft.

“Your legs… Pull them up a bit more,” Noel said, and Julian did, shifting to give Noel a better angle. The tongue slid over his arsehole, exploring the flesh, the damp skin. Julian groaned wordlessly as Noel licked further, the tongue delving into him. It was hot against his skin. Noel teased the entrance, sucking with soft lips, and then explored further, tongue so alien even as it sent shivers though him.

His cock throbbed against his stomach and Noel glanced up at him, tongue on his lips, hair in his eyes.

“Don’t stop,” he said, and Noel wrapped a hand around his cock, and then another. Julian reached for him, fingers clumsy against the back of Noel’s head. He could feel the wet sheets against his skin, and could smell Noel’s piss so strongly he could almost taste it in the back of his throat.

He groaned, and Noel’s tongue flicked the sensitive skin of his arse again, and his hands squeezed his cock. It was too much. He came into Noel’s hands, onto his stomach.

“Mm,” Noel slid back up his body, kissing him. He licked Noel’s lips and explored his mouth, imagining he could taste piss there, as well as the sourness of unbrushed teeth. He nuzzled Noel’s cheek, feeling the faint stubble. Noel’s cock was hard, digging into Julian’s stomach. He rubbed his slick skin against it.

Noel nipped his ear and said, “keep doing that. I could taste myself on your skin. I’m so hard now, I’ll…”

Julian sat up, and eased Noel off him, shifting down the bed, sheets clinging to his skin, so he was facing Noel’s cock. He licked it briefly, tasting Noel’s musk and salt and feeling its heat against his lips. Then he eased it into his mouth, and began to suck. He heard Noel’s breath quicken, and he came, faster than Julian had expected. He spat his come out on to the sheets, and flopped down next to Noel, who looked dazed.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Yeah.” Noel grinned and ran a lazy hand over Julian’s stomach. “You’re so perverted. It’s brilliant.”

“You’re the one who pissed on me.”

“Yeah, but you loved it,” Noel said.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You smell terrible.”

Julian pressed a sticky thigh against Noel. “Shut up.”


	3. Where You Come to Escape

So, they had been taken off the bill. Julian stood looking at the dingy venue and crowds jostling by it. We’re better than all the rest of them, he thought, balefully, and then dismissed it.

They didn’t meet in Noel’s flat often anymore. It was even smaller than Julian’s, and Noel had spilled paint on most surfaces and he never had any food. But Julian went there now, thinking that he hadn’t seen Noel since a cranky half-hour two days ago when they had rehearsed badly, and that Noel, unlike him, would be crushed by the loss of the gig.

He knocked several times. He could hear music playing softly.

“Noel, I know you’re in there. I can hear you,” he said to the door.

It opened slowly. “It’s only you,” Noel said with a sigh. He was wearing surprisingly baggy jeans, worn soft as felt, and his hair looked greasy.

“What do you mean, “it’s only you”? Who could possibly be more interesting than me?”

Noel raised his eyebrows and turned back into the flat, leaving Julian on the threshold. Julian closed the door and followed him.

There was a canvas on Noel’s easel and several old brushes sitting in a jar of white spirits. The canvas was slick and dark with paint: paint glossy and layered so thickly it seemed like it could never dry. Shadowy forms suggested a forest, one full of life and wind. Julian looked at it, trying to make sense of the patterns of movement, but seeing only shapes.

The flat was too hot and smelt like ash and turpentine. Noel was curled up in an old armchair, whose arms were covered with masking tape to keep the stuffing in, looking out the only window. He didn’t meet Julian’s eyes, but the vague, lost look Julian had seen before was obvious.

“You ok?” Julian said, propping himself up on the windowsill.

“Mm,” Noel tried to smile in his general direction. “I am glad to see you,” he said after a moment. “Not going to be much good now though. I’ll see you later on tonight, yeah?”

“You won’t,” Julian said. “At least, they took us off the bill. Sorry, Noel.”

“Did they?” Noel said, softly. “Fuckers.” He reached a hand out and put it gently on Julian’s thigh.

“Yeah.” He was looking at Noel, who was still refusing to meet his eyes.

“I love getting on stage with you, you know. We’re great. You know we’ll be back on soon.”

“Fuck knows,” Julian said. “Maybe it’ll always be this way.”

Noel was blinking too much. At first Julian had thought he might be trying to disguise tears, but he realised it wasn’t that. It was a strange, rhythmic blinking, like he was trying not to see something, or perhaps like there was something behind his lids that was distracting him from the grey-lit reality.

“It won’t,” Noel said, removing his hand from Julian’s leg. Julian didn’t realise that he’d been leaning in to the touch until it was gone.

“You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah. I know it’s a pain, but come on. We’re excellent. I was talking to this bloke and he said something about a gig maybe week after next.”

“Really?” Julian said.

Noel nodded, biting his thumb.

“Wasn’t talking about that, though. You seem a bit out of it.”

“That would be the drugs.”

“Oh. Yeah?”

“No. Unfortunately not. I’m just a bit crap today.”

“Feel sick?”

Noel sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“I like your painting.”

“It’s crap. Don’t be patronising.”

“I’m not. It’s not crap.”

“What do you want, Julian?”

“Nothing. I just came to tell you about the gig.”

“Yeah. I know.” Noel sighed. “Like I said, I’m useless today.” He met Julian’s eyes and the dazed, lost look there was unnerving. Julian bent down to him and kissed his cheek. Noel went stiff and then sighed and sagged against Julian’s chest. His breathing was ragged, a little uneven.

“Move over,” Julian said softly, his back aching from crouching to hold Noel in the chair. It seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Noel let go of him immediately and stood up.

“Sorry,” Noel said softly, and opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out.

“Stop fucking apologising. Stop being an idiot. What’s wrong with you?”

Noel looked at him, grabbed one of Julian’s arms for a moment and then let it go. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I can’t, Ju. Not even when it’s you.”

Julian sighed. He didn’t look like Noel, not like the Noel who joked with him and smiled and had so insistently won him over that he was now a part of his life whether Julian liked it or not.

“Alright. I’m not leaving, though.”

“Yeah,” Noel said. He stood there, biting his lip, squeezing one wrist with the opposite hand. Julian sat in the chair, still warm from Noel’s presence, and glared at him for a moment. Then he took Noel’s wrist out of Noel’s hand and held it firmly with his own, and pulled Noel onto his lap. Noel sat there stiffly for a second, and then let out a long breath and let his limbs relax. Julian slid his arms around his waist and held him, looking at the dusty sky over his shoulder.

*

He was half asleep by the time Noel stirred again. “Christ,” Noel said, and rubbed his eyes. Then, “do you want a drink?”

Julian had been thinking more about food, but he nodded, and Noel stood up and withdrew a rather painty bottle from a shelf full of CDs and rolls of paper.

“What is that?”

“Can’t remember.” Noel switched on the light and the dull room came into startling focus. He looked at the label. “Think it’s tequila.”

Julian gingerly drank a small amount from the greasy glass Noel handed him. “Let’s go out,” he said.

It was cold out, very autumnal. Julian bought chips, but Noel refused any food. He looked rather wan. He’d cheered up, though, and had returned to his habit of gently colliding with Julian as they walked.

“I’m going to spill these if you keep doing that.”

“That’s ok, they’re bad for you.”

“You live on wine gums!” Julian protested.

“Wine gums and grapes. It’s a very balanced life.”

“No protein,” Julian said.

“And sausages. When I remember.” He stopped abruptly, turning his head. “The club’s back here. I always loose it.”

Julian shook the last chips out of the bag and balled it up. “I’ve never been here before.”

“The play good music,” Noel said, and grabbed his wrist, urging him inside.

Julian watched Noel having a shot and then buying one of his sugary drinks. “You do realise this is a gay place?” he said, leaning against the bar.

“Obviously,” Noel said. Grinned, “I’m attempting to get you to dance with me.”

“In public? I’m not sure I’ll ever do that.”

“Oh, come on. Why not?”

“You’re too much of a tart. And your highlights are awful.”

“Are they really?”

Julian smiled and gently tugged on the end of Noel’s hair. “Nah. You could do with washing it though.”

“Don’t you like me greasy?” Noel said, leaning closer, alcohol sharp on his breath.

“No,” Julian said, putting his hand on Noel’s forearm.

“Well fuck off then. Try your luck with another bloke.”

Julian tightened his grip a little bit, and Noel smiled. He took a long drink, and licked imaginary droplets from his lips.

“Are you really not going to dance with me?”

“If you want to dance then go ahead,” Julian said, turning around to buy himself a drink. Noel looked at the back of his head for a second, and slid into the crowd. Julian watched him, not quite bothering to pretend not to. Noel was right, the music here was good, and he was moving lithely to it.

Julian watched as Noel danced briefly with various men, and then he struck up a conversation with the man beside him. Noel returned after a few songs and slid sinuously between them and took Julian’s drink from his hand, draining it. He made a face.

“You have awful taste in alcohol.”

“Don’t drink it then.”

“Thirsty,” Noel said, shifting closer to Julian, warm hip against his side. The lost look from earlier had left his face, now he just looked drunk.

“This your bloke?” the man Julian had been chatting to asked.

“Yeah,” Noel said, nudging Julian’s neck with his nose. Julian sighed and put an arm around his waist. Noel immediately moved closer, side of his face against Julian’s. His stubble tickled Julian’s skin and he could smell the warm aroma of Noel’s unwashed hair and his sweat. Julian tilted his head, kissing Noel briefly, and Noel rewarded him with another grin.

His lips moved to Julian’s ear, warm as they whispered, “I have to piss,” into it.

Julian pulled away slightly so his eyes could meet Noel’s. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I think you should dance with me,” Noel said, shifting his hips slightly.

“Yeah?” Julian said, not sure where this was going.

“Yeah,” Noel said, and smiled again, twining an arm around Julian’s neck. Julian breathed in sweat and alcohol, rich and enthralling.

“Yeah,” he said.

Noel propelled him into the midst of other bodies, pressing close against him. He slid his hands down to Julian's hips, and then round to the top of his arse, body swaying with the music.

“Is this why you dragged me here? Because you’re an exhibitionist?” Julian said into Noel’s ear.

“You’re the one who wanted to go out tonight,” Noel said.

“Only because your tequila tasted like paint.”

“It didn’t. It tasted like white spirits.”

“Well, that’s worse.”

“Probably,” Noel agreed, rubbing a warm crotch against Julian’s side. Julian didn’t resist, cock beginning to twitch. Noel leant up to him and kissed him wetly, tongue sour with alcohol on Julian’s lips. Julian opened his mouth, sucking Noel’s tongue lightly. Noel hummed in approval, and nipped at Julian’s lip.

“I think we have an audience,” Noel said.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It’s just that man you were chatting to.”

“That’s not exactly an audience.”

“No.”

Noel squirmed his hips a little, knocking against Julian’s side.

“You do have to piss, don’t you?” Julian said, recognising the movement, mouth against Noel’s ear.

“Do you like that?”

“I don’t know,” Julian said, brushing Noel’s sweaty hair back from his face. “Are you ok?”

“Of course,” Noel said. “But if you want us to…” He paused; bit his lip. “Well, we might need to go back fairly soon.”

Julian held Noel’s hips gently. He was so slim that the bones felt delicate in his hands. His lips looked wet, and Julian kissed him again, tightening his grip. He wondered how full Noel really was, whether he could hold on. Julian didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, but the thought of him squirming urgently was intoxicating.

“Let’s go,” he said, tugging at Noel’s sweaty fingers.

Outside it was damp, and felt all the colder after the cloying heat of the club. The air smelt smoggy, but Julian had always liked that sharp, wintry smell. It made him think of animals skulking behind corners and someone’s cold hair in his face. Wind nipped at them, and Noel stuck his hands firmly into the pockets of his jeans, adjusting the material.

“Your flat? It’s closer,” Julian said.

They set off, Julian’s heart throbbing with a strange anticipation and longing. He was keenly aware of every movement Noel made, every step and swing of the hips. They were nearly home when Noel stopped, turning back to Julian who was slightly behind him, face anxious.

Julian put a hand to the small of his back. “You ok?”

“No. Yes. I really have to piss.”

Julian pulled him closer, feeling his heat and the sweat on his skin despite the cool air. Noel kissed him. Julian nearly pulled away, too aware of streetlights and voices in the distance, but Noel was insistent, and he couldn’t resist, mouth dry with the illicit excitement only this filled him with.

Noel pulled away first, hand ghosting over his crotch. “This was a bad idea.”

“It was an excellent idea,” Julian said.

Noel laughed shortly. “What if I piss myself right here?”

Julian’s cock twitched again. “You won’t. And if you do… I wouldn’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t mind? I hope you’d be horny, you perve.”

“That too,” Julian agreed. “I am.”

“Good,” Noel said, and slid out of Julian’s arms, beginning the uncomfortable walk again. His steps were shorter now, and his expression, when he looked at Julian, was somewhere between anxious and excited.

They did make into Noel’s apartment, Noel bobbing lightly from foot to foot. Julian pushed him against the back of the door, hands on his shoulder, his sides, his thighs, kissing his neck.

“Oh, God, Julian,” Noel hissed, thighs shaking and wedged together.

“How close are you?”

“Fuck. I don’t know. It almost hurts.”

Julian brushed his hand over Noel’s cheek. “You can let go now.”

“In my clothes?”

Julian nodded, feeling his own cock straining. He grabbed Noel’s arse and pulled him close so his cock pressed into Noel’s stomach. Noel gave a long groan, and squirmed against it. Julian kissed him again, forcing his tongue into his mouth. Noel let go then, whether loosing concentration or simply giving up, Julian didn’t know.

The dampness reached his clothes almost immediately since their limbs were so close together. Noel let Julian nudge his thighs open so that he could slide a leg between them, feeling the liquid trickling over his skin. He rested his forehead against Noel’s, sharing his breath, feeling longing and need course through him; he could taste it at the back of his throat, feel it in the shiver of his knees, and, inevitably, in the throb of his cock.

Their wet crotches pressed together, and Julian rubbed blindly against the hot sodden cloth. It clung deliciously to his skin. Noel’s mouth was open, his breath quick. His hands found the back of Julian’s shirt and clung on. Julian moaned wordlessly, the rush of sensation and the musky smell in the air almost too much for him.

“Fuck, I needed that,” Noel said, voice barely above a whisper. His hand found Julian’s cock, the damp cloth of his jeans clinging to it. Julian thrust into Noel’s palm urgently, and Noel grinned, grasping at it through the wet material. He came quickly, faster than he had expected, hot cloth sticky on his skin and Noel’s wet lips at his mouth.

“You did enjoy that,” Noel said, sliding his arms around Julian’s waist and leaning against him. Julian felt quite boneless, but tried to support him nonetheless, still lost in Noel’s warmth, the sharp smell of him, not unlike the smog in the night air, the smell of something raw and wild.

“Yeah,” Julian said, feeling unable to articulate just how much he had enjoyed it. “Yeah.”

“I’m all wet.”

“Well, obviously,” Julian said, drawing away from him a little so he could see Noel’s wet jeans clinging to his skin, see the extent of the damage. A little had even escaped their layers of clothing and pooled on the floor. Noel slowly peeled down his jeans, revealing slick thighs, and Julian knelt, breathing deeply, inhaling the ripe, salty odour.

*

Later Julian fell asleep sprawled across Noel’s bed, his hair still damp from the shower. Noel lay for a while in the tangle of warm limbs, listening to Julian’s long, rumbling breaths. His body ached with memories of sensation: a residual feeling of relief in his bladder, the warm afterglow of Julian sucking him in the shower, a tired ache in his limbs. It wasn’t enough to make him sleep. The stupefying effect of alcohol had long left his system, and he could feel nightmares coiled in his chest, ready for him if he gave in to tiredness.

It was too dark to work on the painting. He couldn’t switch on the light and wake Julian. He moved to the safety of his old armchair, looking at the navy haze of a sky somewhere between nighttime and dawn, and wrapped tired arms around his knees. He listen to Julian until his breaths became lost in the roar of morning traffic, he listened, and did not rest.


	4. Ein jeder Engel ist Schrecklich

“I’m scared, Julian.”

He never said things like that. He would sit silently, his eyes out of focus, or sometimes he would lie in bed and smoke moodily or throw himself into paintings—paintings that were so intense and full of mood they unnerved Julian—but he would never, ever say it. It was dark, and they’d fucked before they settled to sleep, sweaty limbs tacky and boneless. Now, Noel rolled away from Julian, curling up at the far side of the bed.

“Noel,” Julian said, unable leave him alone with his fear. He shifted across the bed and wrapped his arms around Noel, spooning him. Noel immediately went stiff and pulled away.

“I can’t, Julian,” he said. “I can’t.” And Julian had to leave him, rolling back to the middle of the bed, because Noel, even in misery, especially in misery, was stubborn, and hated to show this fear. The space between felt much greater than it really was, and Noel furthered the sense of a barrier by rooting around on the floor and finding some pyjama bottoms. Julian listened to the rustle of his movements, and as Noel stilled, he let his breathing even out, and then heard, distinctly, in the silent room, a gentle sucking sound. Noel, curled up in the dark into the smallest lump possible, was sucking his thumb again.

*

“Australia, Julian! Imagine!”

He stood in front of the mirror, brushing the hair out of his face, and letting it flop down again. There was a blonde highlight, jagged, right across his fringe, but the rest of his hair was his natural brown. Julian liked it like that, the softness without dye.

“Yeah,” Julian said, “I know.”

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Are you sure you can handle it? Travel and everything?”

Noel stopped moving and Julian realised immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say; that with that approach, he would never convince Noel of anything. Noel’s lips moved for a second, and then he said, “Well, I’m excited. I can’t wait! We’ll be big in Australia. We’re under appreciated here. They’re going to love us.”

*

Noel wet their bed again that night, the third night in a row. Usually it happened once or twice a month, unless things were really bad. He stared at Julian with dead eyes, muttering, “I’m sorry, Ju. I’m so sorry.”

“Noel. It’s ok. It’s fine.”

He’d turned the lamp on, and in its dim glow, he looked pathetic. He was trying to untangle the wet sheets from the mattress before they soaked in, and he’d yet to take off the pyjama bottoms he’d been wearing, so they clung to his skin, glistening with dampness.

“I’ll do that,” Julian said. “Come here,” and he tried to pull Noel, tacky with piss though he was, into his arms. Noel pushed him off and let out a gentle, choked sob.

“Noel—”

“I can’t,” Noel murmured, struggling with the mattress cover.

Julian plied it gently from his hands. “Can we talk about this? At least?”

*

In the beginning, Julian hadn’t tried to be subtle. Noel hadn’t told him directly, but he’d dropped some small, possibly inadvertent hints, and along with the bedwetting, the nightmares, the thumb-sucking, the sadness, and those painful, blank eyes Noel sometimes had, it was fairly easy to come to some sort of conclusion.

“The cunt,” Julian had said, though the word didn’t convey enough of what he felt. He searched for one that did, and found nothing. Noel was sitting in his armchair, looking out the window, eyes out of focus. The pieces had been rattling around in Julian’s head for several months—almost as long as he’d known Noel, in fact—but it wasn’t until this moment that they clicked together. The evening haze of light was hitting Noel’s nose and temple, and though his face was impassive, his right hand gripped the arm of the chair so hard its knuckles were white. Noel’s thumb rested against his lips, and that light caught the saliva that clung to its tip. It was something about that saliva, and the slackness of Noel’s jaw. He knew.

“The cunt,” he said, loudly, and flexed the muscles in his face and hands, searching for more.

Noel turned slowly, light at the back of his head. His hair had had more blonde highlights in it then than now, and they gleamed. “Who?”

“Whoever…” Julian gestured wildly. He didn’t know what to say. I’m so sorry? I never knew I could want to kill someone quite this much? “Him,” he said, after a beat, syllable hard in his throat.

“Oh,” Noel said slowly, and took the thumb away from his lips. He let is rest on his thigh. The right hand still gripped the arm of the chair with a painful firmness. The light clung to the line of his throat as it quivered. “Oh, him.”

He paused, and looked over at Julian. Julian bit into the white fury, looking at Noel’s pale eyes. Then Noel broke the gaze and returned to the window.

“So are we going out tonight, or what?” he said.

*

Direct questions lead to Noel leaving, and not speaking to him for several hours, sometimes days. He could only ignore Noel’s sadness and try to comfort him by providing a semblance of normalcy and cheerfulness. Lately, that didn’t seem like enough. Noel barely seemed to register the world around him sometimes, and while he and Julian could always create worlds together, lately the ones Noel came up with were places that sounded less and less pleasant to inhabit. Noel’s murmuring would often wake Julian, and he would try to soothe him through his nightmares. Usually, it didn’t work. Usually, Noel’s helplessness just left him with a confusing hard-on; he was at a loss.

“I’m scared, Julian.”

He remembered Noel’s voice as he said it, and sat on the edge of the sheets so that Noel had to halt his attempts to remove them, and looked at him. It was the withering stare he applied, in the end, to almost everyone; it was almost his default expression, and Noel, eyes dry with tiredness, was halted by it for the first time. He stood there; hands now slack by his sides, and sagged. Julian reached for him and rested his hands between his chest wall and his upper arms, the flesh hot against his palms, and supported him. Noel looked at him and collapsed forward, into his arms.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groaned into Julian’s chest. Julian gathered him closer, pulling his limbs together, so after a moment, he contained almost all of him within his arms.

“What do you want me to do, Julian?” Noel said hollowly against Julian’s bare skin.

“What do I want you to do?”

“I don’t know what you want, Ju. I’m trying so hard to be…good for you, and it never seems to be what you want.”

“Noel.” Julian sighed and rested his hand on the bare shoulder blade, feeling it shift beneath the skin. “You don’t have to try so hard. I want. Well. I want to help.”

Noel let out a long, wheezing sigh, and slid between Julian’s legs and onto the floor. He mumbled something into his fist, and then grabbed Julian’s kneecap with one hand, bruisingly, and said, “What if I let you help and then I fall apart?” His voice broke as he said it, and the last words come out almost mockingly, or self-deprecatingly.

Julian laughed, gently, tangling his fingers in Noel’s hair. “You already are,” he said.

*

In their bathroom, Noel slid off the tacky pyjama bottoms and sponged off the worst of the stickiness with a cold, damp flannel. He stood in front of the mirror for a moment, touched his hair with the back of his hand and looked blankly at Julian. Julian had followed him in with the damp bed linen, which he dumped in the bath. He put a hand on Noel’s bare, pale shoulder and then pulled him roughly into his arms.

“Bed time,” he said into his ear.

The fresh sheet was cold on their backs. Julian held Noel almost on top of him, and Noel tucked his head beneath Julian’s chin, determined not to have to face him. They lay silent for a few minutes, although neither felt like they could sleep. Noel carefully pulled himself away from Julian, and lay beside him, one arm resting across his chest.

“You alright?” Julian said.

“Embarrassed,” Noel said.

“Why?”

“I’m always fucking embarrassed, aren’t? That you saw me like this. That I wet the fucking bed. That I let everything be just so… fucking fucked up.”

“Swear a lot, don’t you?” Julian said, running his fingers over Noel’s spine and tugging at the ends of his hair. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, Noel. You don’t. I don’t care about that. I want to look after you, you know?”

Noel groaned and buried his nose in Julian’s side. “I wish I could let you.”

“Just let go.”

Noel sat up, tucking his legs underneath him. “I’m hanging on by a thread here, Ju. I’m not sure letting go is a good idea.”

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s clearly not working. Just let me look after you. For a bit, yeah, ok? Just relax. Stop trying to be ok all on your own.”

Noel watched him for a moment and put his hand on the centre of Julian’s chest. Then he lay back down, resting his head on top of the hand. He began to suck his thumb again. Julian put his hand on the wrist, and felt the gentle vibrations from Noel’s mouth in it. He wrapped his fingers loosely around it and closed his eyes.

*

His arms were empty of Noel when he woke up again. After pissing, he went into the kitchen and found him kneeling in front of the washing machine.

“I made coffee,” Noel said.

“Do you even know how to make coffee?”

“It’s instant.”

“Oh.” Julian watched him scrunching the sheets and measuring the softener. “You should let me do that.”

“Julian, don’t. I can do the bloody washing.”

Julian walked over to him. He was kneeling in front of the washing machine, so his head only came up to Julian’s thigh. Julian ran his palm over Noel’s head, feeling the strands pool between his fingers.

“Yeah, but you could let me.”

Noel let out a slow sigh and sagged against Julian’s thigh. He was wearing an old jumper with paint spots on the elbows and wrists and boxers. Julian slid his hand to the back of Noel’s neck and ran his finger over the first knobble of Noel’s spine.

“What, I’m like your baby, now? Ooh, Noel’s too precious to do anything for himself.”

“If you want,” Julian said evenly, a sudden, unbidden image of Noel, sitting in a playpen, totally dependent flashing through his mind.

“Julian! Of course I don’t want.”

“Just for a day. Let me look after you just for a day, ok? And then we’ll see.”

*

He started small. Noel sat fairly placidly on his lap and allowed Julian to feed him bits of toast. Noel often sat on top of him in clubs and sometimes at home, but always there was the unspoken promise that this was just the beginning; the gentle grind of Noel’s thighs and arse against Julian’s cock was just a tease. Now there was something different about it. He gathered Noel in his arms and sat him on his lap, and Noel ran his finger thoughtfully against Julian’s stubble and kicked his heels lightly against the leg of the chair. He wasn’t trying to be coy and there was something very sexy about that. He took the toast from Julian’s fingers, tongue hot against the very tip of them, and though he only took a few bites, the delicate touch of his lips went straight to Julian’s groin.

“How about you have a bath?” he said, wrapping his arms warmly around Noel’s shoulders.

Noel nodded and tucked his head into the crook of Julian’s neck. “In a minute.”

Julian cuddled him some more and Noel wrapped his fingers around the corner of Julian’s t-shirt and let out a long sigh. He began to suck his thumb again and Julian listened to the soft, rhythmic sounds. He really must be relaxing, Julian thought, because this was something he only did when he thought no one, not even Julian, was paying attention.

After a few quiet minutes had past, Julian slowly disengaged Noel from his arms, and Noel stood in front of him, mouth slightly open, looking very nervous and shy. The blank, fearful look shadowed his eyes.

“It’s ok,” Julian said, gently. Noel nodded, and Julian took his hand. They rarely held hands—they might have been mushily in love but at least they didn’t talk about it, or hold hands—so Noel’s cool palm beneath his own felt almost odd. He traced the back of the hand with his thumb, just once, then smiled. “Bath, ok? You’re probably still a bit sticky from last night.”

“Yeah, I am,” Noel agreed, his voice a little softer than usual.

Julian ran the bath, which was so rarely used by either of them that it took him a few moments to work out the taps, while Noel sat on the toilet lid and watched him, tracing the lines of the tiles with his big toe.

“Is that deep enough?” Julian asked.

Noel looked at the steaming water. “Have we got any bubble bath?”

“Of course not. What do you take us for?”

“I don’t know. What did we use when we took those long, romantic baths together?”

“We’ve never had those. In fact, I’m not sure we’ve ever used this bath.”

“We’ve taken long, romantic showers together.”

“That was more just…shagging, Noel.”

“I thought it was romantic.”

“Yeah, but you think giving me your old crisp packets is romantic.”

“I’d drawn a picture on it! Just for you!”

“Of two centaurs kissing?”

“Didn’t you find that hot?”

Julian laughed. “Absolutely. Here, let me take that jumper off you.”

Noel smiled, and raised his hands above his head invitingly, exposing several inches of lean stomach. Julian rolled the cloth over his torso and over his head. Noel rested his head against Julian’s stomach and wrapped his arms around his waist. Julian stood there and stroked Noel’s back, and then gently pulled him onto his feet. He slid Noel’s boxers off his hips and down. Noel leant against him, seeming unwilling to break their physical connection.

Julian sat on the edge of the bath while Noel washed himself with some shower gel. Wet tendrils of hair stuck to his cheeks and neck.

“What are we going to do today then?” Noel asked, carefully not looking at Julian but concentrating on rinsing his thighs.

“Whatever you like,” Julian said softly. “I’ll rinse your hair for you,” he added, as Noel rubbed the green gel into it. Noel stiffened and then let Julian massage his scalp.

*

They ended up curled on the sofa, undecided, with some of the notebooks they used to write in lying at their feet.

“I’m a bit crap today,” Noel said.

“I know. You always are after…”

“Nightmares,” Noel finished softly, burrowing closer to Julian.

“You never tell me about them. I just have to guess.”

“I don’t want to talk about them. I keep hoping they’ll go away.”

“I’ve known you for three years, now, Noel, and it only seems to get worse.”

“I know. I still don’t want to talk about it though,” he said.

“It’s ok. I can wait,” Julian said.

“You’ll be waiting a long time there, Ju,” Noel said. He fisted his hand in Julian’s t-shirt again, rubbing his fingers over the cloth. “I have to act, you know? I can’t just be this. Useless all the time.”

“Ok,” Julian said, feeling Noel’s chest rise and fall against him. “But not around me.”

“That’ll be a first.”

“No, it won’t. You’re crap at acting around me anyway.”

“Read me a story, then, Julian,” Noel said, nudging at one of the notebooks at their feet with his toe. Julian picked it up and rifled through it.

“That one,” Noel said. “We need to work on what the Boosh will do at the Melbourne festival, anyway.”

“We’re really going to go?”

“Of course we are. Come on. It’ll be excellent.”

“I know. But are you sure you’ll be ok? All that travelling. Sleeping in strange places.”

“Don’t be daft. I’ve looked after myself for years. Besides, I’ll have you, won’t I?”

“Yeah,” Julian said, “you will.”

They worked on some comedy for a few hours, but their writing was stilted and Noel wasn’t paying proper attention. Neither was Julian: he loved having Noel like this, safe in his arms, warm and pliant. He didn’t usually let himself be held like this, with his limbs loose and head bumping into Julian’s neck and shoulder, without any attempt at being sexual.

*

The sky was grey all that day and intermittently dark spots of drizzle spotted the windows. The flat was pervaded with quietness: people with regular jobs were not there to wander loudly overhead at 3pm, and even the traffic seemed stifled. On some days like this, Julian would feel isolated, watching Noel wander from room to room with blank eyes, or sit rooted to one spot, idly flicking through notebooks or drawing, but today the flat was pleasantly warm and he loved the feeling of being alone with Noel.

Their conversation drifted aimlessly past them:

“Imagine if we were explorers in the jungle. Or no, no one really likes the jungle; you get weird rot in your feet. We could to Kew, though, and pretend we were in the jungle.”

“We could climb the trees and wear camouflage and scare tourists.”

“There’s nothing more fun than that. And we could bring a tiger and a lion and try and get them to mate. Because, imagine, a tiger with a lion’s haircut. It would be so much more interesting than all the other animals.”

Of course, they didn’t talk about the most important things: the subtle shifting of something between, suggested only by the drift of their limbs together and Noel curling placidly in Julian’s arms.

*

Noel drifted to sleep on the sofa late in the afternoon. Julian had spent a few hours working on some music and he’d been trying to draw. He’d had many sleepless nights recently, and everything he did seemed to be through a haze of tiredness. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but did, sagging against the sofa cushions, pen bleeding into his pad of paper.

The dreams were always the same: the green-tiled corridors of his old school; his art teacher, whose hands had always been so gentle when helping him to get the right shapes in his drawings, but which felt so rough against his skin; the warm squares of light from the high windows along the walls; the key in its keyhole, caught by the evening sunlight, casting a shadow that Noel so often attempted to draw but could never quite recreate.

He woke suddenly, feeling his skin warm and wet, and trying not to cry. He always tried not to cry, but today he couldn’t quite manage not to. Julian was being so bloody kind to him but somehow it didn’t make any difference, all the comfort in the world couldn’t stop him from being so fucked up.

He heard Julian’s footsteps in the hall and tried to stifle the noises he was making.

“Noel!” Julian said, so sharply that Noel for a second thought he was admonishing him, but then felt warm arms slide around his neck. He whimpered, trying to will away the tears that clung to his cheeks and dampened Julian’s arm. His jeans stuck to his skin and he could feel a wet pool on the sofa under him, a familiar scent in the air. He’d done it again, humiliated himself again, and abruptly he didn’t see any point in quelling the tears, but sobbed harder, wrapping his arms around Julian’s solid comfort, thinking that soon Julian would tire of him too when he realised nothing ever made him better.

“It’s ok. Come on, love. It’s ok.”

Noel nodded bleakly against Julian’s neck and wormed closer against him. Julian shifted him across the sofa so they were facing one another and he could wrap his arms more easily around Noel. Noel hung on, burrowing his face into Julian’s chest. Not since he’d been a teenager had he wished so strongly to just disappear.

“It’ll be ok,” Julian soothed as Noel tried to reduce his sobs to gulps, the sense of despair still overwhelming.

“It won’t be, though,” Noel said softly, half-hoping Julian wouldn’t hear him. “It never is.” He disengaged himself from Julian’s arms, shifting his arse uncomfortably in the soggy puddle of piss. “There’s no point in looking after me, Ju. I’m always the same.”

“But I fucking want to, you idiot,” Julian said. “I want to.”

Noel scrubbed his face with his hand. His cheeks felt hot, still, under his fingers. He just wanted Julian to hold him again. Julian sensed this, and put his hands on Noel’s shoulder blades. They held each other silently for a few minutes; the distant roar of traffic the only sound aside for the rhythm of their breaths.

“I’m all wet,” Noel whispered. “And I think I fucked up the sofa.”

“I’m sure we can salvage it,” Julian said, coiling Noel’s hair around his fingers. “Go and start a bath, yeah? I’ll strip off the covers.”

“If you’re really going to keep on making me take baths, you have to start buying bubble bath,” Noel said.

*

Noel lay in a warm haze, skin dry from the two baths; the bed sheets feeling deliciously crisp against his skin. He felt drained of energy from their conversations and the tears. The evening had passed in a cosy blur. Julian had ordered in pizza and they’d sat on the living room floor to eat it, Noel managing more than he often did on days like today. Then they’d watched a meaningless blur of TV, thinking up new jokes for the tired sitcoms and much wilder plots for the dramas. Noel had lain with his head on Julian’s thigh, ignoring the threats of nightmares behind his eyes and listening to Julian’s rumbling voice.

He still felt useless; the nagging feeling that Julian would soon be tired of this new dependency settled firmly in his thoughts, but he didn’t allow it to show as he sagged against Julian, kissing his neck. He didn’t feel like sex tonight, just as he didn’t feel like pulling away from Julian’s warmth and curling up on the edge of the bed, trying to block out the nightmares by himself. Julian lay placidly and let him arrange himself against his side, his head tucked under Julian’s chin. His hand curled over Julian’s chest almost involuntarily, and he tucked his thumb warmly into his mouth.

*

He woke slowly, feeling the light heavy on his lids, not quite willing to succumb to the morning yet. He hadn’t slept through a whole night in days, and even though he was hazy with sleep, his head did not have that same throb of tiredness. He registered Julian’s arm, still wrapped warmly around his shoulders, and he stretched a little, releasing the thumb from his lips and rubbing that hand across Julian’s side.

“So, you are awake.”

“Apparently,” Noel said softly, slowly unpeeling his lids from his eyes. He could see the rough expanse of Julian’s neck, and, beyond that, the daylight pressing against the thin curtains. Noel listened to Julian’s heartbeat and curled his toes in the warmth. He didn’t feel quite ready to meet Julian’s eyes. He gently slid one hand down Julian’s torso and over the small mound of his stomach.

“Mm, you’re hard,” he murmured; voice tickling Julian’s neck.

“You don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” Noel said, worming his fingers around the cock and feeling it twitch appreciatively. He peeled the bed covers off them, sliding them over their hips and thighs, and bent over Julian’s cock. He breathed onto it and felt Julian suppress a shiver. This felt good. This felt normal. He ran his fingers over the tops of Julian’s thighs, teasing him, and lightly stroked Julian’s balls. One finger slid further, just to the edge of Julian’s arsehole, and then he bent down, taking the head of Julian’s cock in his mouth and sucking softly, pumping the shaft gently with his fingers.

Gradually he opened his mouth further and relaxed his throat, swallowing more of the cock. He could hear the soft, appreciative sounds Julian was making, and they spurred on his sleepy lips. He could feel the sunlight on his back and the soft sheets rustled around his feet. Julian’s cock filled his mouth and he could feel the vein throbbing against his tongue. He sucked harder, trying to create some sort of rhythm, his mouth and jaw aching from the familiar too full feeling that he almost enjoyed. He felt Julian’s hands in his hair, gentle, encouraging; although he tugged harder, unable to resist, when he began to come.

Noel swallowed around him, the come sticky in his throat, letting Julian’s cock begin to soften before he released it from his mouth. He sat up on the bed, duvet around his feet, suddenly feeling painfully awake. After yesterday, he wanted both to dive back into Julian’s arms, and to run away.

He scrunched his face up and ran his hand over his eyes. “I think I have to meet friends today. Did I say I did?”

“I do, anyway,” Julian said. “I promised I’d meet Tim to go over some lyrics.”

“Fuck,” Noel said, closing his eyes.

“I can go another day if you want, Noel. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“No, it’s not that. What’s the time?”

Julian glanced at his watch and told him.

“Fuck,” Noel said softly again. “If I am meeting these people, then I’m already late.”

“You’re always late,” Julian said.

*

They were old friends, people he’d known since art college, but he felt a little out of focus, like their conversations didn’t quite make sense. Even the light seemed wrong. They were in an attic studio and its large windows meant that light filled the whole room, setting dust motes gleaming and drying oil paint too quickly. Noel sprawled on the floor, only half joining in. No one seemed to be offering hash or alcohol, and he longed for some kind of social lubrication. Images leftover from nightmares threatened to resurface, but he forced them down, eyes following the patterns of light on the walls.

“We’re going to Australia next month,” he told them, when asked.

“Sounds like it’s going well,” his friend Jack said.

“Yeah, it is,” Noel rolled onto his back. “I dream about it every night. We ride unicorns thought the jungle and sloths let us sleep on their bellies. Because sloths are built like hammocks.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Jack agreed. “But I don’t think even you would fit on one.”

“Giant sloths,” Noel said. “Like in the Natural History Museums.”

“I tried to draw that one once, but the guards kept chasing me away.”

“Yeah, me too,” Noel said, sitting up. They’d met to discuss some drawing projects they’d been talking on and off about for months, but today he just couldn’t focus, the aimless conversation drifting past him without settling in his brain. He could feel bad dreams settling within his skull instead, drifting through the whorls of his mind, as substantial as the conversation around him.

“Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes against his hand again and watched as his fingers made colours fan out across his irises.

“Ok?” Dave asked.

“Hungover,” Noel lied. “Maybe I’ll head home.”

“We’re going out tonight, I think. I’ll text you?”

“Yeah, ok,” Noel said, tugging at the end of his hair.

He turned his portable CD-player on loud on the bus and gazed unseeingly out of the window, and let his mind wander, which he ought to have known was a bad idea. The green corridors sprang up behind his eyes again, his feet remembering the feeling of that slightly sticky floor; the feeling of walking so slowly but knowing that wouldn’t stave off the inevitable for long. The classroom door always clicked shut behind him in his head, and the key rattled. Some details were clearer than others, so his teacher’s face loomed out of focus inside his head, but the hand on his collar was impossibly clear, always patterned with the same calluses and nicks from drawing knives. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember if his eyes were open or closed, and he thought he felt that hand brush against the side of his neck.

“Don’t!” he said, loudly, and the feeling of his voice in his throat shocked him into reality. The music hammered in his ears, but he could see people looking at him. He wondered if he’d shouted. He turned away from all of them, refocusing on the landscape outside his window.

“Julian?” he called softly when he entered the flat, but he already knew from the feeling in the air that he was alone.

He rattled down the corridor, head still full of what he’d seen on the bus, ignoring the silhouette of his easel in the doorway of their office and the nagging feeling that he should be able to entertain himself. Their bed was still a warm tangle of sheets, the room dim because the curtains were still unopened. Julian’s t-shirt from the day before was crumpled on the floor. Without thinking, he picked it up and pressed it to his face, inhaling the smell.

“Fuck,” he mumbled quietly to himself, and lay down on the bed, not intending to sleep, but just lie in the warm light. He laid the t-shirt under his cheek and breathed in the salty smell. No one was here to see him, so he felt safe rubbing the cloth comfortingly against the sides of his fingers. He touched his thumb to his lips and gave up resistance, sucking hard. His throat burnt from the blowjob he’d given earlier, but it didn’t bother him. With the thumb in his mouth, he was finally able to relax enough to take deep breaths.

He supposed he must have drifted off, because when he was next aware, the light felt a little dimmer, and suddenly Julian’s hand was in his hair. He didn’t move for a moment, but let the hand rest there, while he blinked in the light. He felt the bed shift as Julian lay down beside him.

“You ok?” Julian said, his hand playing with the ends of Noel’s hair.

I need you too much, Noel thought worriedly, but didn’t say it.

“Yeah,” he said, instead, slipping the thumb out and letting it rest against his lower lip so the word came out distinctly. “Now.”

He slid backwards so that he was pressed against Julian, who wrapped an arm around his waist. Soon, he would get up; soon, he would force himself to focus, but for now he was just going to lie.


	5. An Aside: Giving Blankets

“Here.” Julian shoved the parcel at him, looking slightly nervous. His eyes were ringed with tiredness, but that was only to be expected. Julian had long perfected the tired look, and filming was always hard on those who didn’t exfoliate properly.

“For me? You don’t give me presents. Howard gives Vince presents. Are you getting confused?”

“No, you prick. You could be more appreciative.”

“Why do you look so shifty?”

“I thought I always looked shifty.”

“More shifty, then.”

Noel was sitting on the bed in their hotel room, a half-drawn sketch in the notebook beside him. Julian sat down, making the uncomfortable hotel bed squeak slightly, and stroked the back of Noel’s neck almost unconsciously.

“Just open it. You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re always…” Noel dropped it, and focused on the parcel instead. It was in a white paper bag, the end sealed with sticky tape. It was soft, like clothes. Noel ran his hands over it carefully and then ripped it open at the corner and slowly drew out a soft white blanket, the kind that was a lattice of threads woven into squares. It was edged in silky material.

“A baby blanket?” he said after a second.

“Yeah.”

“For me?” Noel wasn’t entirely sure he was offended, but his voice came out rather sharply anyway.

“Well. The other thing you have always looks so grubby.”

Noel coloured just slightly as Julian reached under his pillow and drew out a scruffy fold of dark cloth that had once been a t-shirt of Julian’s.

“I can’t use this! It’s… What if someone sees?”

Julian stroked his cheek. “Only I’ll see.”

Noel fingers, which had rubbed the material of the t-shirt into rags, found the edge of the cloth and began to rub that. “It’s so soft.”

Julian smiled. “You do like it.”

“But… it won’t smell like you,” Noel said.

“I hope I don’t smell like this thing,” Julian said. “I’m not that much of a tramp, am I?”

“It used to smell like you,” Noel said, looking at the old t-shirt fondly. His fingers, though, were still rubbing the silky edges of the blanket. He leant against Julian’s shoulder and began to suck his thumb.

Julian put an arm around him. “Happy?”

“Yeah,” Noel said, around the thumb. He took it out briefly and said, “yeah. You were right. That was a good Noel-gift. I’m not sure Vince would have appreciated it.”

“Nah,” Julian agreed. “Vince is much tougher than you. Everyone thinks you’re the together one…”

“No one thinks I’m competent, Ju,” Noel broke in, pressing his nose into his new blanket.

“They do.”

“Maybe they do. You don’t, though, and you’re the one who counts.”

Julian flopped back onto the bed, yawning. He didn’t have to say that he didn’t mind Noel not being competent. If they’d ever bothered to have conversations about that, it would have been a long time ago. Noel settled onto his chest, putting the blanket under his cheek.

“Filming takes ages,” he said into Julian’s chest.

“You’re realising that now?”

“Well, I was running on adrenaline for the first couple of weeks. Now some of the shine has worn off.”

“We’ll shine you up. Get Mr Susan on the job.” Julian rolled over the bed. They’d been lying diagonally, and he settled more comfortably somewhere in the middle. Noel followed him, huffing slightly. Julian ran his hand through his hair, fluffing it up. It was still sticky from the various products Noel stuck in it during filming.

“You’ve been doing well lately,” Julian said.

“Mm. Tired.”

“Yeah. This was a long day.”

“No, I mean tired of doing well. I never feel like I’m together, you know? I try so hard to look like I know what I’m doing, but even getting out of bed seems really complicated. It’s all… so much,” he trailed off, running a hand across his face a little uneasily.

“That’s how everyone feels,” Julian said softly. “But you’re in bed now, aren’t you? It’s not complicated now.”

“Mm,” Noel said. He nuzzled into the blanket, and Julian listened to the familiar sucking sounds he made.

“Missed this."

“What?” Noel said indistinctly.

Julian shrugged, wrapping his fingers lightly around Noel’s wrist. Noel murmured, completely compliant in Julian’s arms. Julian missed this: having Noel, placid, unquestioning, all to himself.


	6. An Aside: Estate Agents

The sky was grey, heavy with rain that did not fall. These months seemed to bleed into one endlessly February: a thin grey blanket stretched over everything.

Noel had woken to find the flat empty, and wandered aimlessly through its quiet rooms. In earlier years, and previous flats, rooms had often been left unheated, and it was impossible to stand on a wooden floor in a silent room without shivering. Noel’s feet were bare now, but not unpleasantly cold as he stood on this shiny wood floor, looking at the sky weighing heavily on the windows. Their flat was large now, and the light travelled in long shafts from the windows, across the floor, through doorways and fell in long squares against walls. It was reflected in mirrors and at the sharp edges of tables.

Noel’s first flat had been a single room, and it was too full of clutter for the light to travel anywhere. It was blocked by tubes of paint and chairs covered in old clothes, and the room left dim. When they had first viewed this flat, a little before series one was filmed, it seemed unbearably large to Noel, who was used to three small rooms full of the marks he and Julian had left. But he’d wandered away from the estate agent as she spoke to a bored Julian about solid oak countertops and the benefits of induction hobs, and had stood in the wide corridor with all the door open, looking at the shafts of light falling through the long windows and stretching out languorously, like cats lolling on clean sheets, across the hall floor. It had not even been sunny that day and still the light filled the flat like bright juice in a jug.

Julian had come and found him there, a hand covering the small of Noel’s back. Noel, uncaring of the estate agent who still prowled the rooms, leant back into Julian’s arms.

“Bit bare, isn’t it?” Julian had said.

“There’s a skylight,” Noel replied softly. “And six windows, big ones in every room and two in the bedroom.”

“Not much else, though,” Julian said, sliding his hands down to Noel’s hips and stroking the bones gently, almost unthinkingly.

“We’ll be like fish in a tank. Staring out the windows. Do fish look out, Ju? Do they wonder what the hell us idiots are doing wandering around outside?”

“If we’re in here, will we start wondering who the idiots outside are? We’ll become submerged in our own little world and not understand how to interact with the real one.”

“Julian?” Noel said, turning his head so it was pressed against the side of Julian’s neck, a favourite position.

“Yes, Noel?”

“I think you described how we already are.”

“Will we take the flat then?”

“Mm,” Noel said, nuzzling the soft skin at the crook of Julian’s neck. “It’s on the fourth floor. There’s a lot of light. And sky.”

“That’s a yes, then?”

Noel had walked over to one of the bedroom windows while Julian talked to the estate agent and stared straight out, seeing a stretch of sky broken only occasionally by the tops of buildings or low-flying birds.

Today was the sort of day when it was hard to remember why you ever bothered getting dressed or brushing your hair. The flat was still a bit bare; they had not lived there long enough to accumulate enough clutter to fill five rooms, and Noel was standing in the mostly empty one that was supposed to be his studio. He’d been too tired lately to use anything more complicated than ink or markers, and his oils were still in boxes, three bottles of white spirits looking accusingly at him from under the window. He stared right back at them, but he’d never managed as unflinching a stare as Julian and he didn’t think it put any dents in the white spirit’s confidence.

He had blank canvases somewhere, too, but he didn’t think of taking them out. He went over to the window, and looked down instead of across, to the mess of streets and people and cars. Sometimes the sight of all those tiny people so entirely removed from him made his throat burn sharply. Everything beyond himself and this flat was so confusing that most days he didn’t understand how to comprehend it, let alone immerse himself in it.

The bed was still warm when he got back into it: he hadn’t attempted being up for long. The comfort blanket Julian had given him a few weeks ago was tangled with the folds in the duvet, and he carefully smoothed it out, pressing his face into its softness, his fingers finding its silky edges. He lay back down, facing one of the bedroom’s two wide windows. He could only look across now, and he stared at the grey light. The only things that seem almost without colour are February skies; they refuse even to be defined as white, or grey. That colourlessness soothed Noel’s eyes. Once he had mixed all his oils together, dots of clear colour from thirty or more tubes, and they had ended up like this, too, a blanket of blandness. He stared at this sky and thought about the throng of colours that it must hide.

Time seemed unimportant. He was tired, bone tired, after the weeks of filming, the weeks of dealing with people all through the daylight hours and never letting his guard down, and today he wasn’t sure that had there been anything pressing to do, he could have gathered the energy to do it.

“You asleep?” Julian asked so softly it barely disturbed Noel’s thoughts. The thumb, which had slid into his mouth almost unconsciously, he removed, and he rolled over, taking in Julian. He seemed as uncomplicated to the eye as the sky did.

“Getting up today?” Julian asked instead, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I got up,” Noel said, “and had an argument with some white spirits.”

“Well at least you’re talking to new people,” Julian said, swinging his legs onto the bed too. Noel’s head and the comfort blanket immediately migrated from the pillow to Julian’s lap.

“I’ve talked to white spirits before,” Noel said. “It never ends well.”

“You and cleaning products. You just never get on, do you?”

“I once left some brushes in white spirits so long they disintegrated. They were nice brushes. I’ve never forgiven them.”

“The brushes or the spirits?”

“The spirits, of course. The brushes were victims to a greater power.”

“White spirits monster for the next series?”

“It could be see-through and make anything it touched vanish. That’s not very funny though, and only art students would get it,” Noel said.

“I’m too knackered to come up with good ideas today, too,” Julian said, idly stroking Noel’s hair. It was unwashed and a little greasy to the touch, but not so greasy it was unpleasant. Noel murmured appreciatively.

“You know, eventually I’m going to have to ask you if you’ve eaten anything. And you’re going to say you haven’t and we’re going to have to go through a long drama involving me forcing food on you.”

“Don’t ask just yet,” Noel said. “We’re all cosy.”

Julian stroked the side of Noel’s neck. “I went to talk to the BBC this morning.”

“Did you?” Noel said. “Isn’t that the sort of thing I should join you on?”

“Yeah. I told you about it last night, but you looked too sweet to be woken this morning.”

“Don’t call me sweet. I’m no use today, anyway.”

“You are, though,” Julian said, finding Noel’s hand where it was tangled with the comfort blanket. “Sweet.”

“Mm. Filthy lies. What did the BBC say?”

“Lots of enthusiasm. Aren’t out ideas quaint. Putting us on even later than they said before.”

“Naturally.” Noel put the tip of his thumb between his lips. Sometimes he could get angry about that kind of thing, but not now.

“Yeah,” Julian said, wrapping an arm warmly around Noel’s torso and propping the pillows behind him so he could lean back more comfortably. He yawned. “Your ennui is exhausting.”

“I haven’t got ennui. I feel really happy, lying right here. If you made me get up, I might get ennui. I might get all tearful and annoying. Not here.”

“I’m not making you get up,” Julian said, scratching his beard with the hand that wasn’t around Noel. “Maybe I have ennui, though.”

“You don’t,” Noel said. “Look outside at all the colours. It’s like a psychedelic nightmare out there. It’s very bracing.”

Julian laughed. Even the grey light was somehow cheering though, the way it flowed through the wide windows and filled the room. It was not bright but it was clear and warm to the eye.

“It is, isn’t it. No wonder you’re not getting up. Much too confusing out there.”

“It generally is,” Noel agreed. “Sometimes I like it better when we’re just talking about making TV. Not actually making it.”

“I know, but we have to make them to be allowed to sit here and just have ideas.”

“Or just sit here,” Noel said, shifting his head a little so he could nuzzle closer to Julian. “Why is it that when you’re a grown-up you’re not allowed to have fun on your own any more?”

“The rules get stricter. It’s not really allowed.”

“Like you buying me comfort blankets isn’t really allowed?”

“Yeah. But we break rules, you and me.”

“We do,” Noel said, the thumb going back into his mouth. And then again, less distinctly, “we do.”


	7. The Sky at Five AM

The hand travels up his leg to the place where his thigh meets his groin. His limb is small, though lightly muscled from playing football, but the man’s hand still covers a lot of his skin. Any touch is too much, so the full flesh of the fingers and palm and the top of the wrist is almost unbearable. Noel is crying. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t stop it. He stares up to the drawings pasted along the top of the walls. He’s only in the first year, so his drawings aren’t up there yet. The ones here belong to the older students; the ones who seem like grown-ups, and use charcoal and mysterious red chalk, and know how to capture light falling onto the skin. Noel wishes he could draw like that now. He feels impatient thinking about all the years of practice he has to work through. He concentrates on the light falling on the curly hair of the girl drawn in one of the pictures. They way the light clings to every kink. He thinks it’s been drawn a little wrong. The hair looks too shiny, like it’s wet, or it's an overexposed photograph. He stares at it hard, following the movement of the curls, trying to work out the mistake. The hand is nearly at his arsehole now, and he’s not sure if he can stand it. He’s almost blinded by tears, anyway, so the drawings have turned into blurs, and the hand is still moving, it doesn’t stop, it’s going in. He doesn’t now how it can, he’s heard about bumming but he never figured out how it really happened and these fingers inside him don’t seem possible, but they are, they are, and he’s sobbing but it’s not making any difference.

When he woke it was like being cast adrift from an anchor, his senses flailed for a moment, lost in sensations that seemed totally unexpected: hot wet cloth clinging to him, a warm body beside him, cloying, sticky air. Then he felt a hand move down his spine, and his surroundings regained some kind of clarity. His body seemed to remember these nightmares even more clearly than he did: sharp pains extended through him, radiating from his arsehole and thighs, like it had just happened all over again.

“Y’ok?” Julian murmured to him, still half asleep. “You ok?” His hands ran over Noel’s wet skin, trying to pull him into his arms. Noel felt himself go stiff, unable to succumb to Julian’s sleepy body. He felt Julian’s hardness against the small of his back and wondered if Julian had been dreaming or if he was simply turned on by Noel wetting the bed again.

“Mm,” Noel tried to slip away, but Julian’s hands were insistent, pulling him back into his arms. In his head, he could still hear himself crying, and see, with horrible clarity, that drawing of the girl in the sunlight, her hair shaded just a little bit wrong.

“You feel good,” Julian said, voice still stupefied with sleep. His hand travelled along Noel’s side, tracing his tacky leg. It was less that Noel wanted to stay and more that he didn’t have the willpower to resist. His head buzzed, the sound of his ears that sound you hear when you are faced with physical pain you almost cannot bear. He curled back into Julian’s arms, feeling the hot wet sheets clinging to his skin, and the stickiness of Julian’s thigh.

“Ok?” Julian asked him again, sliding a hand up to his chest and rubbing a nipple between his fingers.

“Yeah. Yeah, Ju,” Noel whispered back, not sure how his voice managed to stay steady. In his head, he still felt small, like he was eleven again and his bony wrists could be contained by one man’s hand. Julian’s hand was against the side of his neck now, his fingers tangling in his hair. Noel felt the erection pressing insistently against his back. He wondered, slightly masochistically, when the last time he himself got hard was. He turned over in the sheets, the still-warm urine making his body slick in a way that was not unpleasant: it was something he felt so often it almost felt safe. He wrapped his hand around Julian’s cock and began to pump it; his fingers so familiar with this particular cock that they seemed to remember what Julian liked without Noel having to remind them. He let them work on it by themselves and tried to shut off the sobbing he could still hear within his head.

When Julian came, Noel sat up, pulling the wet sheets away from his skin.

“You sure you’re ok?” Julian asked, scrubbing his face with one hand. They’d been doing gigs all week and going to parties afterwards, and Noel had watched as Julian become more tired and hung-over looking as the days progressed.

“Fine, Julian,” Noel said. “Fine. I’m just going to strip the bed, yeah?”

“Can do it,” Julian murmured, burying his face in the pillow.

“Yeah. You can do it,” Noel agreed, stretching his limbs in the cool air. Julian often left the window open and he could feel the chill breeze on his shoulders. He felt, suddenly, deeply grateful to that particular breeze.

He turned the bedside lamp on, and was glad that Julian barely stirred. In its dim glow, he looked very pale. Noel eased the sheet out from under him and threw it on the floor. The piss had radiated far across the sheets: clearly, beer followed by nightmares was a terrible idea. The duvet wasn’t really wet, so he carefully put it back over Julian and watched him sleep, the lamplight sending shadows across his broad back.

The feeling of the fingers still felt too fresh in his mind. He thought he could feel the ache from their intrusion, the pain of them, still, inside his skin. His heart fluttered, like a frightened bird inside his ribs, and the feeling was familiar, too, so painfully familiar that it was almost over powering. He scrambled off the bed and grabbed the dry corner of the sheet on the floor, trying to scrub his thighs clean with it. Suddenly the feeling of even his own hands on his skin filled him with sickness.

He stood against the window, listening to Julian’s breaths. His heart thumped inside his chest, like it was terrified, though the room was quiet and cool and there was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing to be afraid of, he reminded himself, throwing the words across his mind like you might splash water against feverish skin. His hands, though, were unaffected, and bounced still along the windowsill, and his heart continued to beat too hard, so hard he heard its every throb and felt it in his shoulders and in his thighs. It was dark out, still, and the darkness seemed like it would be cool against his skin, would ease the pain behind his eyes. He couldn’t keep still. His body felt too terrified. He had to run, or scream.

He was too afraid to let Julian calm him down. Too afraid for soothing hands to help; the heat of the bed seeming cloying, suffocating. He slipped from the room; picking up his crumpled jeans and worn black coat, and opened the door of their flat. The darkness in the corridor outside was almost complete because there were no windows along the stairs. The door shut and he didn’t even remember that he had brought no keys, money, phone, but only felt the throb in his head and the answering pound of his feet as they began to run. They clicked against every stair, and then finally he was free of the building; it was so cold outside it felt like a slap in the face, but he welcomed it, the chillness on his skin as he ran.

The streets seemed nameless, featureless, he had no idea which direction he was going in, only that he was moving, that the aches in his limbs were soothing the throb of his heart and the panic in his mind. Fear fuelled his movements, making running seem easier than usual, his feet, though they began to throb in their narrow boots from every slap against the cold footpaths, felt light and sure. His throat burned, but his breath seemed to come more easily.

He saw people—throngs left over from late-opening clubs, and those strangers one sees in cities at night, strangers who walk aimlessly, expressionlessly—but he paid no attention to any of them, nor they to him. The dark was hazy, incomplete, lightened by the traffic lights, streetlights, the occasional strip of neon or the gleaming of an ad at a bus stop. Still it seemed to sooth his eyes, his thoughts. Eventually he came clear of a dark narrow street, and found water in front of him—river, a canal, he was too disoriented to look properly, or care. He couldn’t run any more, his muscles finally giving in and quivering from the unaccustomed exercise, so he stood at the balustrade, walking back and forth like a caged animal, afraid to keep still.

He kept walking, back and forth, for what could have been minuets but felt more like hours, the breath harsh in his throat, until a group of drunken men walked by, and he stilled himself, leaning against the parapet, listening to their footsteps and hearing faints words from incoherent conversations. He want to ask them, suddenly, Where am I? What the fuck is going on?, but, of course, let them pass in silence. Their presence had jostled some sort of clarity in to him: although his veins still fizzed with fear, he could see the water with far more clarity, and hear, suddenly, the sounds of distant traffic and the slosh of the water far below the stone parapet. He rubbed his face with his hand, and suppressed the sudden, embarrassing urge to suck his thumb. The light was turning from black to grey and he walked to the other side of the road to use it to see the street sign above his head.

*

A familiar headache settled in Julian’s temples, its throb leading him swiftly back to wakefulness. He rolled over, feeling the mattress was cool under him, and slightly prickly because the sheet was gone. He sat up slowly, testing the pain in his head. After a few long blinks it became something manageable, insistent and annoying but not debilitating.

“Noel?” he called softly, without really expecting a response. Noel often became dazed and quiet after a nightmare like the one he’d obviously had earlier, unable to concentrate on the world around him. Julian first went into the bathroom and contemplated having a shower, but thought he might entice Noel back to bed. He wasn’t in the chair he usually sat in, though, staring at the traffic from the window. Julian glanced at the clock and realised it was still very early, just after six. It only took a few moments for him to determine that Noel was gone.

He swallowed, trying to tell himself that Noel could be in any number of places, but the earliness of the hour made it harder for him to convince himself. He rang Noel’s phone, but immediately heard an answering tinny ring from Noel’s bedside locker.

“You idiot,” he hissed. “Could you not bring your fucking phone?”

Outside, morning traffic was already beginning to get heavy, the familiar sound of the slow grind of cars filling up the flat. The light was grey, pale, the sun still unrisen. Noel’s keys were splayed on top of his wallet on the floor by the door, so he’d gone out with nothing. Julian looked at them in the dim light, unable to decide whether he should go out hunting for Noel or stay in and wait for him to turn up.

He walked from room to room, hating his indecision. He picked up the phone and put it down again, unable to decide whether to ring Noel’s friends or not. He stared outside, every time he saw a taxi hoping that Noel would emerge from it, but he never did. The streets were fairly empty of slim, dark haired men at this hour, but every time he glimpsed one, his heart raced.

He forced himself not to think about rapists, murderers, alleyways, and not to think about why Noel had left in the first place, but his mind kept wandering unbidden to ghoulish thoughts. He cursed himself for not being awake to stop him, and walked indecisively to the front door and back again.

The phone rang, finally, overwhelmingly loud in the oppressive quiet of the flat.

“Ju?” Noel’s voice said, brokenly, “Ju, did I wake you?”

“No, you didn’t fucking wake me. Where have you been?”

He regretted the harshness of his tone when Noel’s voice came out even more choked. “I dunno, Ju. I’m… They let me use their phone in this café. I haven’t got any money or anything.”

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”

Noel told him. It wasn’t far from their flat, but it was a long way to go on foot, in the dark. Julian went outside and hailed a taxi.

Noel was huddled miserably in a corner of the café, an undrunk cup of coffee in front of him, while harassed commuters looking hopefully at the table he was occupying. Julian walked over to him, torn between the urge to hold him and the urge to shout at him.

He put his hand on Noel’s shoulder and felt him stiffen, and then sag into the touch as soon as he realised who it was.

“Let’s go,” Julian said.

Noel nodded. He looked bedraggled, hair unbrushed and clad in the previous day’s wrinkled clothes.

“You’ll… Can you pay them for the coffee, Ju?”

“Yeah. The taxi’s waiting outside. Get in, will you?”

When he got back, Noel was curled into the seat, thumb pressed against closed lips. Julian touched his shoulder but went no further when Noel didn’t respond, put off by the taxi driver’s presence. The silent drive was slowed by the throngs of early morning cars and seemed endless.

“Where’d you go?” Julian asked when they were back in their narrow hall. Noel stood, clenching his fists anxiously, looking very small.

“I just… Went. Got to the river and I…”

“All that way?” Julian said.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Noel bit his lip, wrapping his arms around himself. “I just… had to.”

“Why did you have to? There’s never a good reason to just leave at 4 am without even taking a phone!”

“I,” Noel snuffled, and Julian watched at the tears began to well. “I had a bad dream,” he said eventually, and began to cry properly, scrubbing at his face with his hand.

“Oh, come here,” Julian said, pulling him into his arms. Noel buried his face in Julian’s chest, crying freely. “Idiot. I’m not really angry.”

He led Noel into the sitting room and sat on the sofa, pulling him onto his lap. Noel folded himself into Julian’s arms; trying to stifle his sobs, face warm and wet against Julian’s shoulders. Julian could feel him shivering slightly, his heartbeat racing under Julian’s hand. His muscles were clenched; he wasn’t easy to hold even as he hung on. Julian found himself crooning meaningless words to him, his own body finally relaxing now that he had Noel safe in his arms. Eventually the tremors began to lessen and he felt Noel relax a little, loosening his death-grip on the folds of Julian’s t-shirt. He stroked Noel’s hair and heard him start to suck his thumb.

They stayed still for a long time, both unwilling to break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Julian,” Noel said into his shoulder.

“What happened?” Julian asked softly.

“I had a bad dream,” Noel said again. “And I was so scared, I just had to run away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Noel didn’t know the answer to that question. Somehow warm, sleepy Julian had seemed threatening too, everything had seemed too frightening to bear, and the only answer had been to run. He didn’t know how to say that, though.

“I had a bad dream,” he said again, softly, and slid the thumb safely back into his mouth. He felt Julian’s fingers tangling in his hair, and he closed his eyes.

“What did you dream about?”

He’d asked that question before, once or twice, early in their relationship. Noel had tried to make jokes, and, when the issue was pressed, gone silent and unresponsive. Now he didn’t say anything, his head still buried in Julian’s chest, but all his muscles went stiff again.

“Noel?” Julian said, tightening his arms, partially in an attempt to calm Noel and partly so he couldn’t get away. “I’ve guessed some of it, you know. You just haven’t told me any of the details.”

Noel took the thumb out of his mouth and balled his hand into fists, fingernails biting harshly into his palms. He was thinking of the drawing, of the girl with the too-shiny hair. He was thinking that he had figured out the mistake. He remembered, too, exactly when he had figured it out; the exact positions of the hands on his skin that day. His heartbeat sounded too loud in his ears.

Julian’s hand was in his hair, still, stroking. Julian looked pale still, and tired; he’d though that as soon as he’d seen him in the café. He thought about Julian’s pale face and about the river running torpidly below him.

“The details,” Noel said, softly. He was thinking of hair and hands and running. He could smell Julian’s skin underneath his nose, feel the softness of the place were his neck became shoulder.

“I liked it when you were hard,” he said, eventually. “I liked it when you were hard, that first time. I was trying so hard not to cry, and then you told me to put my hand on your cock and I could feel you. You…wanted me.”

“Yes.”

“You look so tired today.”

“I’ve got a headache.”

“I’m all sticky, still, from last night,” Noel said.

“Have a bath, then, and maybe we’ll go back to bed?”

Noel nodded, unwilling to lift his head from Julian’s neck. “It hurts, Julian,” he said. “Still. I don’t know how to describe what that pain is like. Everywhere he… It hurts, Ju. It’s never gone away. It never goes away.”

“Yeah,” Julian said, against his hair, his mouth pressed into the top of Noel’s skull. “Yeah, ok.”

It was impractical to lift Noel, but he did it today, folding the limbs within his arms and carrying him awkwardly to the bathroom. They held each other, their bodies flush, as Julian turned the shower on and washed the sweat and grime from their skins.

*

It was sunny out when he woke up, and the headache was gone. He stretched slowly, the sheets warm and crisp on his skin. Noel was lying on his side, facing him. He was sucking his thumb softly, an old t-shirt of Julian’s under his cheek, his fingers working over the label at its seam. His eyes met Julian’s, but he didn’t say anything. Julian smiled at him and slid across the small gap of mattress, wrapping an arm around his torso.

He could feel the sun on his back and in his hair. It was the dull sunlight of late winter, but the window and the heat of the room made it feel pleasantly warm. He listened to quiet sounds Noel made and stroked his hair.

“We should go out. And build a raft out of old newspapers and binbags and glide down the canal on it. We’ll meet a pirate ship and sail to one of those places with a name that makes it sound like it’s not real. Zanzibar. The Gold Coast. Treasure Island. You can be ship’s cat.”

“What’ll you be?” Julian said, feeling Noel’s voice against the skin of his torso.

“I think I’ll just sit on the deck. Or maybe be one of those people who sit on the front of the boat with their arms all stretched out.”

Julian thought. “A figurehead?”

“Yeah. Only I’ll have really good hair.”

“It’d be a bit windswept.”

“I think I could do the windswept look,” Noel said.

“You’d get bored after half an hour. Beg me to let you chase the mice.”

“You’d make a really bad ship’s cat,” Noel said.

“You’d make a really terrible figurehead.”

“I dunno. I think it might be a good new line for me. Paid holiday, sort of thing.”

“Should I be making you eat something? What time is it?”

“Nearly one. Why are you changing the subject?” Noel asked.

“Holidays make me hungry. Croissant?”

“Why a croissant, of all thing?”

“I’m trying to tempt you with delicacies, O precious flower.”

“Croissants aren’t delicacies,” Noel said. “You can get them in newsagents. They don’t count. They’re like hummus. They were fancy once.”

“What do you want then?”

“I could suck you off. Sperm is full of protein.”

“I’m not sure it’s part of a balanced diet, though. What about carbohydrate?”

“I’ll have it on toast. Clearly,” Noel said. He was still talking into Julian’s chest.

“Not good enough,” Julian said. “I’ll make you something.” He attempted to get up, but Noel clung on, tucking his hand between Julian’s upper arm and chest wall.

“You’ll have to let go of me at some point. I’ll eventually have to piss or something.”

“You can piss on me. In this partnership, we share bodily fluids.”

“That’s impractical.” Julian said. He kissed the top of Noel’s head and slowly forced them both into a sitting position. Noel looked tired; Julian wondered if he had slept. His hand was still fisted around the old t-shirt.

They sat still, side by side, looking at the dust motes that stretched like the nets below tightropes across the room. Noel’s arms looked too thin to Julian, veins traced out on the tender flesh on the inside of his elbows. He thought about them bruised, claw-like hands on Noel’s skin. He had tried, once or twice, to picture the man, but his brain only allowed him images of catoonish monsters.

Noel broke the stillness by resting his hand on Julian’s shoulder, fingers tickling the bare skin. His thumb was in his mouth again, and Julian had a sudden urge to touch the place where the skin of his mouth met the skin of his hand.

He didn’t. Instead he twitched the duvet off them, and said, “Come on. I’ll make breakfast.”

*

Years later, there would just be an expanse of sky out of their window, grey and undaunting, broken at the bottom by the jagged lines of wires and buildings. From this flat, though, all that was visible were the flats across the street, the flickering light of TVs filling them, umbrellas propped up against windows. Noel watched the traffic, watched it so often he was beginning to think he could find patterns to the colours of cars, rhythms within its grinding movement.

Julian came up behind him, and hand on his back. Julian wouldn’t stop touching him today, his hands containing Noel’s hips or the back of his neck. Noel liked the feeling of those hands on his skin; the skin that still ached from old, invisible scars. Its edges suddenly felt defined by Julian’s hands rather than that tired ache.

They sat together, talking aimlessly, Noel’s head secure on Julian’s shoulder as the grey light leaked away and the dark haze of the city pressed up against the windows and it was night all over again.


	8. An Aside: Driving to Leeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially just a watersports fantasty. :)

Noel hadn’t slept very well the night before, and now the day seemed much too bright and confusing. He curled up at the corner of sofa and closed his eyes, hiding most of his face in his comfort blanket, his thumb tucked deeply into his mouth.

“Come on, Noel,” Julian said, putting his hand on Noel’s shoulder. “Time you were getting moving.”

“Nah,” Noel said, removing the thumb but still muffled by the blanket. “Let’s stay here, ok, Julian? Like it here.”

He grabbed Julian’s wrist and tried to pull him down for a cuddle.

“Come on. We have interviews, remember? You’ll have to be grown-up for them.”

“I don’t want to be,” Noel said petulantly, clinging to Julian’s arm.

“I don’t want you to be, either, but we have to. You know that.” Julian rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly with one hand.

Noel sighed and pulled his blanket away from his face. “Yeah, I know,” he said, pressing his cheek against Julian’s hand.

They were going for an interview in Leeds; the air was still chill when they went outside as they had to leave rather early. Noel clutched a small bag containing the essentials: blanket, hair straightners, iPod, and sat in the front beside Julian, reminding himself to be sensible and grown-up, at least outwardly.

He already felt bored and fidgety, and the familiar London suburbs that zipped past his eyes were very dull. He drew his knees up to his chest and watched as Julian drove instead. He looked tired, Noel thought.

“Are we nearly there yet?” Noel asked.

“Noel! We’re still in London.”

“I know. I was joking,” Noel said. He stared out the window and shifted his legs again.

“I hope you were. We’ve only just started.”

Julian sounded cross; he never talked much when he was driving, either. Noel fiddled with the radio for a little while, but there was only bad pop music and news on all the stations, and Julian kept shooting Noel annoyed looks, so he turned it off. He yawned and put his thumb back into his mouth. He wanted his blanket again, but he’d put the bag on the back seat and he didn’t want to squirm around to get it and annoy Julian again. He looked sleepily at the road instead, thumb safe and soothing in his mouth, oblivious to the strange looks other drivers sometimes gave him.

He thought an hour must have passed this way, and he liked the dozy, dreamy feeling that began to fill him. The London suburbs slowly slipped away and were replaced by other towns, more cars, and the occasional field. A familiar ache in his bladder, which had begun not far from home, was getting rather uncomfortable, however, and he rolled over to face Julian again, wondering if he should say something.

Julian smiled at him when he turned around. “Being a good boy, aren’t you?” he said.

Noel liked that, the words accompanied by Julian’s easy smile. He put his thumb back into his mouth and relaxed again, watching Julian’s steady hands as they drove. He decided he didn’t need to disturb him yet.

The movement of the car slowly got less and less as the traffic became more and more steady. It wasn’t so easy to relax when they weren’t going anywhere, and Noel was getting too uncomfortable to find his thumb comforting. He sat up straight and pressed his thighs together, trying to relieve the ache.

“It’s not going to be like this all the way?” he asked.

“Can’t help it if it is,” Julian replied. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

Noel looked at the other cars full of bored looking drivers, some drumming their fingers impatiently on their steering wheels or nodding along to the radio. He tried to count them to distract himself, or to imagine what would happen if they saw one of the Boosh monsters appearing. The Hitcher could sort them all out.

Oh, no. The Hitcher. He’s allowed to wee anywhere. That wasn’t the best thing to think about.

Sometimes Julian would put him in nappies, especially if he’d wet the bed a couple of times recently, and was beginning to feel anxious about sleeping in case he did it again. He thought longingly of the slightly too-hot feeling of a nappy, now, and the wet warmth like being in a bath.

He shifted again, urgently, trying to find a better position. His whole groin ached.

“Will you keep still?” Julian said.

“I’ve got to do a wee,” Noel admitted anxiously.

Julian drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “That’s just what we need,” he said crossly.

Just then the cars began to move again and Julian was completely focused on the road. Noel squirmed again, the seat belt feeling too tight against his abdomen.

“Ju?” he said.

“You’ve just got to hang on for a bit, Noel, there’s nowhere to stop,” Julian said.

Noel bit his lip, staring out the windows in the hope of a distraction. There wasn’t anything, just lanes and lanes of cars on either side of them followed by scruffy fields and small houses. If Julian could have pulled over, he’d have been happy to piss on the side of the road, but it didn’t look like Julian could stop anywhere at this point.

He jammed his hand against his crotch, shifting his weight between his thighs. His groin throbbed urgently, so much that it hurt. He let out a little groan, despite himself.

“Is it that bad?” Julian asked, more gently now.

“I don’t think I can hold on,” Noel said, feeling tears beginning to well. He couldn’t keep still, wriggling in the car seat, his whole crotch burning.

“I’ll stop as soon as I can, I promise,” Julian said.

But that might not be for ages, Noel thought.

He shifted his feet, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. He pressed his hand hard into his groin, grinding it against his cock, but his whole abdomen seemed to ache. He squirmed around in the seat, shifting his weight between his thighs and squeezing his knees together.

His bit his lip, feeling his eyes water. The view outside the window had become a blur now, and all he could feel was the sharp ache as his crotch throbbed with need. He squirmed again, and felt tears trickling down his cheeks. He just couldn’t hold on for much longer.

“Ju?” he said desperately. “Julian, I can’t—”

“Oh, babe,” Julian said, looking at him properly as they got stuck behind another van.

Noel squirmed in one last attempt to be good and grown-up and wait, and rammed his hand into his crotch. The inevitable happened almost instantly, however, almost catching him be surprise as he felt his muscles give up and the hot piss dampening the crotch of his jeans and then flowing down the inside of his legs as he wet himself. He kept his hand pressed to his groin in an attempt to stop it, but he felt Julian’s hand reach over and stroke his arm gently.

“It’s ok,” he said soothingly. “You can’t help it.”

Noel felt the wee pooling uncomfortably under his bum and making the cloth of his jeans stick warmly to his legs. It trickled into his boots and even dribbled onto the seat. He cried as he thought of the mess he’d made and the way he’d embarrassed himself in front of Julian all over again. It did feel a little bit good though, too: the tingling relief in his crotch and the warmth against his skin.

Julian gave his arm one last comforting stroke before he needed his hand for driving again. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” he said.

The traffic eased after another couple of minutes and Julian drove to the nearest petrol station. The loo there was dark and smelly and Noel didn’t like it, but Julian undressed him gently, giving him dry jeans from the boot of the car.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, burying his face in Julian’s neck.

“It’s ok, love,” Julian said, gently stroking his hair. “It’s ok.”


	9. Between Sleep

“I’m sorry, Julian.”

“You always say that,” Julian said gruffly, trying to force himself to be wakeful. It invariably took him a long time to regain clarity; his dreams clung to the back of his eyes and the long dirty shadows left by the streetlights across the bed sheets confused his subconscious. He found some part of Noel: an upper arm or the side of his torso, and squeezed it. “Why do you always say that?”

“Because.” Noel’s skin quivered slightly under Julian’s hand. “I’m always sorry I woke you.”

He drew Noel closer to him, trying to ease himself awake. His side of the bed did not feel very wet, but Noel’s sheets were slick to his skin. Noel groped for him and buried his face in the side of Julian’s neck. It was damp, too, with tears, as it always was, and the tremors that ran though Noel’s body were the sobs he tried to choke.

“Let’s get you dry, yeah?” Julian said, stroking Noel’s spine.

“I can do it,” Noel said, brokenly. “You can go back to sleep.”

“Idiot,” Julian said, and took Noel’s wrist in his, urging him towards the bathroom. He slid the whole mess of bedclothes off the mattress and dropped them on the floor. They landed with a muted thud; the streetlights turning what their glare touched a dim orange.

The light in the bathroom was much too bright; Noel looked pale in it, and ill. He was wearing faded pyjama bottoms, glistening with dampness, which Julian slid off him. He was crying, and trying not to, and that made the sobs that escaped sound all the more hollow and broken. Julian pulled him close, letting him bury his head on his shoulder.

“It’s been a while since you had one this bad, hasn’t it, love?” he whispered softly. The tiles felt very cold on his bare feet and he remembered earlier nights when Noel used to suck him off after he’d wet the bed, when he’d thought the hitched breaths were caused by sexual excitement.

Noel nodded. “Never goes away,” he mumbled bleakly into Julian’s shoulder. Julian knew it was the most he was likely to say on the subject, so he stayed quiet, stroking Noel’s back.

Eventually, Noel drew away a little, and Julian ran a few inches of hot bathwater, which Noel splashed on his thighs and arse, cleaning the stickiness off. Julian’s head throbbed with sleepiness and he went back into their bedroom where it was still pleasantly dim. He found fresh bedclothes without turning the light on.

Noel was sitting on the edge of the bath, thumb in his mouth, still tearful. He sagged against Julian as soon as he saw him, naked chest heaving.

“Brought you some pyjamas,” Julian said.

“Ok,” Noel said, taking them from him. He dressed slowly, sticking his feet into the seams and tangling his fingers with the edges of cuffs, like he couldn’t quite focus on what he was doing. Julian watched him and then gently took his hands in his and eased them though the sleeves.

“Ju?” he asked anxiously when they were back in the bedroom. He stood by the bed, shifting his feet slightly. When Julian glanced at him he went on, “Where’s my… where’s my blanket, Ju?”

Julian glanced at the bed and realised it wasn’t there. “It’s on the floor,” he said, and found it at the edge of the heap of wet sheets, thankfully dry and undamaged. Noel took it from him and wrapped it around his hand. He brought it to his face and nuzzled it, rubbing at its silky edges with the sides of his fingers.

“I dreamt it was gone,” he murmured.

“What?” Julian said.

“He took it,” Noel said, and shook his head quickly. “It’s stupid. Sorry.”

Julian sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Noel onto his lap. He went boneless immediately, slumping against Julian’s chest, hand firmly fisted in the blanket.

“Who took it?” Julian asked softly.

“He…” Noel trembled and tucked his face into Julian’s neck. Julian found Noel’s cheek and stroked it, travelling down the contours of his face, finding the place where the lines of his cheek met Julian’s shoulder and the softness of the blanket.

“Are you going to go back to sleep?”

Noel shook his head. “Scared, Julian.”

Julian lay back onto the cool sheets, taking Noel with him. There wasn’t anything he could say so he held Noel gently, running a hand down his side. Noel rested his head on Julian’s shoulder, and, as the trembling in his limbs began to ease, he heard him sucking his thumb, the slower breaths as he relaxed.

He drifted off to sleep quickly, soothed by Noel’s weight in his arms and the familiar sounds he made. Noel lay there for a long time, blinking, his eyes getting so used to the dimness that they could pick out all the shapes and shadows. He felt Julian’s chest rise and fall under him, and sighed. He limbs felt heavy, but he was too afraid that if he lay there he would relax and slip back into the same nightmare.

He sat up slowly, easing Julian’s arms off him because he didn’t want him to stir. He kept his thumb in his mouth as he did so, because he couldn’t quite bring himself to take it out, and continued sucking as he slipped quietly from the bedroom and into their sitting room.

Their flat was large now, and the room was almost too spacious for comfort. He settled on the leather sofa, which felt cold against his skin and squeaked faintly. He shivered a little, and curled up as small as possible, bringing his knees to his chest and looping his free hand underneath them. The blanket he kept folded over his shoulder, its warmth comforting.

Many hours could pass like this: quiet, and dark. Julian always slipped into sleep easily like it was more natural and easy to him than waking, but Noel found it fitful, uncomfortable. He found he could rest like this, too, the dark soothing on his skin, awake but with no need to present a face to anyone.

He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or awake when Julian came into the room, but he knew that he had watched the gradual process of the change from incomplete city darkness to a smoggy grey half light and then to watery sun and all those hours had left his eyes burning and his feet were so cold they tingled.

“Why didn’t you bring a duvet?” Julian asked, putting his warm hand over Noel’s cold one. “It’s February.”

“It’s always February. I think it’s going to be February forever,” Noel said, stretching. “Longest month of all time. A hundred twenty-ninths.”

“This isn’t a leap year,” Julian said, squeezing one of Noel’s feet. The thumb against his sole felt too hot for comfort.

“It’s a magic, endless February full of monsters made from smog and instant meals. It can be a leap year all it likes.”

Julian laughed. “You have an interview today,” he said.

“Do I?” Noel said, taking a corner of his blanket between his fingers. “Fuck. Do I?”

“Yeah,” Julian said. “We could cancel it…”

“Course we couldn’t,” Noel said. “It’s just me, is it?”

“Yeah. Morning radio. Wanted you”

“Fuck,” he said again, closing his eyes. “Why do I never remember these things?”

“Because you have me. And because you’ve never managed to remember anything.”

“Yes. Fair enough.” Noel groaned and sat up a little, looking at Julian standing above him. He reached out his arms and grabbed Julian’s waist, burying his face in Julian’s stomach. Julian sat down beside him, easing him awkwardly into his lap.

“I can come with you,” he said into Noel’s hair.

“Nah,” Noel said. “I can concentrate better if you’re not there. Put my face on. I’d better go and get dressed.”

He slowly untangled himself from Julian’s limbs and sat at the very edge of the sofa blinking uneasily. He carefully folded his blanket and put it on the sofa cushion, arranging it so it was parallel to the arm, and then stood up and fluffed up his hair.

*

He could hear Julian playing the guitar when he got back into the flat safely delivered by one of the BBC cabs. It was always a strange moment, returning to Julian. The laughter and smiles that filled him almost hysterically when he was away disappeared almost instantly, like a bubble bursting in his chest. All the energy was knocked out of him. He stood in the hallway, listening to the notes of music, feeling the knobbles of his spine relax, although the faint tremor of panic wasn’t entirely defused, was never entirely defused.

Julian was in the sitting room, concentrating. Noel admired that focus, because he rarely felt anything like it. He sat down quietly on the floor by the door, watching, wondering how long he could go unnoticed. He let out a long breath and slid his thumb into his mouth.

“Any requests?” Julian asked as the music came to an end.

“Didn’t think you knew I was here,” Noel said.

“I could hear the sucking,” Julian said, carefully putting the guitar aside. “How was it?”

“Good. Think you’re playing the second part a bit fast.”

“The interview,” Julian said.

“That. Can’t remember,” Noel said.

“That bad?”

“I dunno. More like they all run into one eventually.” Noel yawned. “Still, there’s a lot of daylight left. We could do all kinds of things.”

“Like what?”

“Have a picnic. Paint. Take up yoga. Go to a wine tasting. Learn how to play the harpsichord. There’s a whole myriad of things.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Julian said.

“There were a good two hours there before we woke up all soggy. And I don’t think that’s related to all the things we should do. We could go searching for a tortoise and call it Snappy.”

“I don’t think there are tortoises in the Thames, Noel.”

“The harpsichord, then. Did you hear the one about Mozart and the cement mixer?”

“No.”

“It would be a lot better if that joke had a punchline. But we don’t do punchlines. It can just hang there, like a mirage.” Noel stood up from the floor and walked over to Julian, who held out an arm to him.

“You are sleepy,” Julian said when Noel curled up against his side, having found the blanket where he’d left it, just under the arm of the sofa.

“Liar,” Noel said. “We should catch a train and buy oysters.”

“You hate oysters.”

“We should catch a train and…” Noel tucked his thumb into his mouth. “Find hummingbirds,” he said indistinctly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Julian said, “Hummingbirds. Very practical.” He stroked Noel’s hair and felt him settle, warm and pliant, against his chest.


	10. Unwind

Julian got into the flat ahead of Noel and went into the kitchen its door swinging in his wake. He had no great desire to look at culinary utensils, but he needed somewhere to calm down, and it was the first room off the flat’s narrow hall. Noel closed the door after them and slung his green coat over the hallstand. It creaked.

He’d been ghosting his thumb over his lips throughout the car trip home, but he’d felt too on edge to suck properly in a car driven by one of the BBC’s drivers, so now the first movement of his hand after it was free of the coat sleeves was to dart to his lips. He leant heavily against the living room door, taking deep breaths he didn’t know he’d been avoiding as his tongue worked against the back of his thumb, finally feeling comfortable.

The flat was cold. They’d been out a lot lately: too many interviews, too much driving, too much… Noel wasn’t sure where to begin. There was too much of so many things that he felt overwhelmed. He trailed down the corridor and searched for his blanket in the tangled folds of their bed, finding it at the edge of the mattress, abandoned too early that morning. He pressed it lovingly to his cheek and carried it back with him to the sitting room, where he curled up on the sofa to wait for Julian.

He looked tired. They didn’t cook much so their pots gleamed, and Julian kept catching his own reflection in the sides of them. He could see how tired he looked, how unlike Noel, who always seemed to maintain cheerfulness, inspire adoration. He sighed, his head throbbing. He was always nursing a persistent headache throughout interviews, and today had been too long and his whole skull seemed to ache.

Noel turned and smiled at him as soon as he entered the sitting room, a strange smile, because he barley slid his thumb out to do it, but an oddly radiant one. He leant back, watching Julian with heavy-lidded eyes, running the silky part of the blanket over his cheek. It was impossible to be annoyed with him when he looked like that, but Julian’s frustration had begun too early in the morning and seemed unlikely to end right away.

“Fucking hate these things,” he said, sitting heavily down on the chair across from Noel.

“Know. Me too,” Noel said, twisting the blanket around and around his hand now he needed his mouth.

“You don’t. You love it. They love you. It’s how it all works.”

“You don’t think I go over all the words I said wrong in my head like you do?”

“No,” Julian said, “I don’t.”

“Well,” Noel smiled. “There isn’t any point, is there? Today just went on and on, though.”

“Yeah,” Julian said, and got up awkwardly, his head giving another pound. He stood beside the sofa, and Noel reached out his arms, wrapping them around Julian’s waist. Julian gave his hair an awkward stroke. He gently untangled Noel’s blanket from his hand.

“This thing is filthy,” he said.

It wasn’t an entirely fair assessment: it was a little greyer, maybe, than it ought to have been, especially in the places where Noel’s fingers rubbed it the most, and one edge was slightly stained.

“Needs a wash,” Julian said.

“No,” said Noel, trying to take it out of Julian’s hand.

“It does,” Julian said. One of Noel’s arms was still looped around his waist, his hair, teased and back combed more than usual for the interviews, squashed against Julian’s stomach. Julian smiled down at him for the first time, running a finger through the tangles.

“You’re wrong,” Noel said, not quite, but almost, seriously, into his shirt.

“You’ll like it better when it’s clean,” Julian replied, and whisked it away.

“Julian!” Noel complained, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t know why it had to be now—why he couldn’t wash it later, or send it out with their usual stuff, but somehow it did. He gathered a few other whites from the bedroom floor and turned on the washing machine.

“We just got in,” Noel said, staring as the soapy water began to whirl. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, rolling an apple between his hands, clearly with no intention of eating it.

“So?”

“Well, I haven’t had it all day, have I?”

“And you need it all the time, do you?”

“Not all the time. Sometimes. Julian…”

“Stop whinging,” Julian said, reaching out a hand for him. Noel put the apple down slowly and came over, tucking his head into the crook of Julian’s neck.

“My head hurts,” Julian said.

“Want my blanket,” Noel replied.

“Told you to stop whinging.”

“I thought we were sharing things we wanted to complain about. Your head hurts, I want my blanket, I think we’re about even.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“My head’s hurt all day.”

Noel laughed, the movement of his mouth wet against Julian’s neck. “Now whose whinging?” he said.

The washing whirred more loudly. Julian’s head ached in response. “Let’s go and sit down. We could watch a film.”

“Something very quiet for your head?”

“Something nice and dark.”

“Film noir. Obviously. We can turn it down when there’s gunfire,” Noel said, settling against Julian’s side. Julian realised they’d forgotten the remote, and stroked Noel’s hair.

He heard the gentle sucking sounds of Noel’s thumb returning to his mouth, and felt Noel’s fingertips against the side of his throat as the hand relaxed. It was dark in the sitting room with no lights on and only a dim cityscape for illumination, and Julian closed his eyes peacefully. He felt Noel’s free hand slide, warm, under his shirt, fingers tickling the skin of his stomach. Noel ran his fingers over the cloth of the shirt, like he did with his blanket, delicately touching the silky care label at the seam. Then he slid his fingers around to the front, undoing one button, then two, the process slow because he was one handed, the touch sending delicate tremors through Julian’s skin.

His hand came to Julian’s throat, eventually, the sides of the shirt falling free. Noel’s fingers ran over the pocket of flesh above his collarbones, and rose further, trailing through his stumble. He kept his eyes closed as the hand began to explore the contours of his face, trailing delicately over the skin of his lips, an index finger dipping briefly between. He felt Noel’s weight shift, one leg swinging over his thighs, the warm body pressing into his chest.

“Noel,” he said, soft.

“Mm?” The sound was muffled, the thumb, still, safe in the mouth.

“Don’t stop,” Julian said, voice rougher than he’d thought it was going to be. Noel’s hands, answering, trailed down Julian’s chest, finger finding the delicate nubs of the nipples, and rubbing. He fumbled with the button of Julian’s trousers, and slid it open, hand so hot as it brushed Julian’s groin. Noel’s thighs, too, resting over Julian’s, were hot, the weight of Noel so accustomed, but sending a shiver through him.

The fingers found his cock, rubbed, delicate, assured, easing him to erection. He heard the wet sound of Noel’s thumb leaving his mouth, and felt the slick digit slide softly down his neck, over his chest. Noel’s hair tickled his skin. The mouth, when it met his was hot, too, too hot, and wet. He felt Noel’s damp breath on his lips and on the skin of his nose when Noel drew away, sliding from Julian’s lap. His hands stayed, just above Julian’s hips, and the weight of Noel himself left and settled between his legs. The breath was just as damp, as hot, on Julian’s crotch, tongue moistly tasting the shaft, the head.

Julian found his breath hitching, hissing, the headache giving a firm pound, but not detracting from the feel of Noel’s tongue on his skin, the hands hot weights on his thighs. The tongue darted, assured, too, against his cock, Noel’s mouth taking him in. His mouth was hot as ever, and the accustomed suction set Julian murmuring, trying not to meet each suck with a thrust.

Noel knew what he liked, the speed, the pressure, and soon his breath came too quick, cock throbbing deliciously, Noel’s fingers teasing the tender skin of his balls. His thighs felt shaky, insubstantial, and only his headache, taut as a plumb-line, still, grounded him in the present. Still, he came hard, with a choked groan, quicker than he had expected. He felt Noel’s mouth moving around him, swallowing, and opened his eyes, the dim light cool on them.

He caught the gleam of Noel’s grin when he looked down, the eyes catching the faint light. Noel always looked inordinately pleased with himself after giving a blowjob. He smiled back and ruffled Noel’s tangles.

“What film do you want to see?” Noel said. “You should’ve turned the DVD player on before you sat down.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I can’t be expected to remember everything,” Noel said. His voice was slightly hoarse. He stretched across the floor, picking through the slew of cases beside the TV. Julian watched him, smiling, and did up his shirt buttons.

*

Noel was dozing, later, eyes half focused on inky figures on the screen, when the dryer beeped in the kitchen. Julian was standing by the fridge, looking at it disconsolately, knowing there was nothing in it, and thinking that he should have thought of food before it got as late as this. He found the blanket, warm, tangled among the other coils of clothes, and pulled it out. The silky part tickled his wrist.

When he gave it back to him, Noel’s smile was that winning one that Julian knew got him through interviews, knew was what kept everyone so charmed. Julian touched his cheek, and one of Noel’s arms reached for him again, the other clinging on to the blanket.

“This film is full of plot holes. I can tell and I’m not paying attention."

Julian sat down beside him and glanced at the screen. “Buy more light bulbs,” he said as Noel curled up against him, resting his head in his lap.

“We can write a Technicolor film noir,” Noel said. “With dancing penguins.”

“And brightly coloured firearms.”

“Yeah. People should really look for more colour in their guns.” Noel switched the TV off, leaving the room darker than ever.

“Water pistols are colourful. How’s the blanket?”

“Warm,” Noel said. “Back. Which is good.”

Julian stroked his hair, watching as Noel tucked the blanket under his chin. “Maybe that’s why they don’t go in for colourful firearms. Too many water pistol associations.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, really,” Noel said. “But I like the dancing penguin angle.”

“You can never go wrong with those,” Julian agreed.


	11. The Wind Full of Space

_“...there remains to us yesterday’s street,  
and the thinned-out loyalty of a habit  
that liked us, and so stayed, and never departed.  
Oh, and the night, the night, when the wind full of space  
wears out our faces – whom would she not stay for,  
the longed-for, gentle, disappointing one, whom the solitary heart  
with difficulty stands before. Is she less heavy for lovers?  
Ah, they only hide their fate between themselves.”_  
-Rilke, The First Duineser Elegie

 

Julian barely moved in sleep. It suited him better than wakefulness, Noel thought, sometimes, watching his stillness; he seemed camouflaged, like he was flowing with the tide of the night, rising like the great volumes of water the moon pulls upwards, part of it. Noel was an outsider, with eyes that burnt.

*

In the end, though, sleep always catches up with you. It’s impossible to survive without it; so, eventually, it seeps in, although through dark heavy hours you may think it impossible. It comes when you look out the window admiring a pale dawn, or comes heavy and uncomfortable as wool in summer as you sit in a taxi and know there is no point in closing your eyes.

Noel paced. Through the house, through room after room, he paced, letting five doors swing silently shut after him, and listening to the tread of each foot. He remembered looking for wild rabbits at dusk in August, creeping slowly through fields, walking heel-toe, heel-toe, to make the least noise possible. They hadn’t seen more than a blur of white tail, but he remembered his own quiet movements, the excitement in the stillness.

He wouldn’t sleep and he wouldn’t wake Julian. That had been decided.

*

Mistakes creep up, too. One moment, everything is ordered. All your lies are straight in your head. All your lies are in order, and in the morning you can brush your hair, and smile, and face people, knowing that they need not know all your petty secrets.

Then you slip. It may be a glance that is held too long, a knowing nod, a gentle, half-said admission, but you slip. It happens all at once. The tiniest falter of your voice. Then you cannot walk, any longer, looking at the silver night and thinking of the cool soles of your feet as you tread from room to room. You have given all that up.

*

Noel slept.

Just for a moment, he would lie down. His eyes felt so hot in his skull. Just for a moment, he would lie down, and close them. Perhaps his thumb would slip to his lips. Just for a moment. His breath deepened. His lips slackened. Just for a moment.

*

Does the moon’s pull tug up the whales along with the miles of silver water? Do they rise, too, insistently pulled skyward? Do they notice?

Julian followed the course of most nights faithfully, but he was also attuned to Noel. The ceaseless pacing was too quiet to wake him, but Noel stirring did. It would wake him with lids heavy and head groggy, but it would wake him. Noel slid off the bed, all at once, and Julian for a moment was sure it had not been deliberate, that he would hear the crack of head meeting floor.

“Noel!”

*

Noel dreamed.

Endlessly, he dreamed. In life, it had begun with sunlight; his dreams, too, were full of that light, the heavy shafts from high windows, the heavy shafts on dark green walls. In dreams, things do not make sense, but these dreams followed the same pattern as memory, and memory makes even less sense.

It wasn’t always the same. There were too many memories for that, too rich an array to choose from. Today his wrists lay above his head, were held there, and the body above him seemed impossibly big. He wondered, in waking, why he must remember all of it, why every thrust must stand out so clearly in his mind.

Even in dreaming, his eyes burnt.

*

There wasn’t any crack. Julian surged across the bed and peered down, but Noel was on the floor below him, struggling to sit upright, face wet with the usual tears. Julian, after a moment, smelt the tang on the air, too; saw the loose trousers clinging wetly to Noel’s skin.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out a hand, “hey.”

But Noel stood up and scuttled away, face twisted in grief. Julian sat there, for a moment, watching, blinking. Noel’s security blanket was a mound on the bed beside him, and he could feel the dampness spreading through the sheets. He pulled them back in one motion, and stood up, took the blanket with him. It was light in his hand, a mere sliver of cloth.

The corridor was dark, and he did not quite dare to turn the light on.

*

It was dark, and his eyes burnt. The dark ought to sooth them and to invade the brightness of memory and make it dim. It did neither. He could not quite work out why his soles were cold on the cold floor, or why his clothes were so hot and uncomfortable.

Occasionally, something snaps. He wanted to be somewhere enclosed, where he could feel four walls around him, feel with his hands that there was something above him, and below, and on either side, somewhere with no unnecessary space. He was floating, floating, like the whales in the moonlight, floating but so afraid, so sure that he, in a moment, would feel the hands on the contours of his skin, would have to brace himself for the pain.

He cried, gulping, loud. Oh, help me, help me, help me, I’m so sorry, he whimpered, although he wasn’t sure if that was inside his head or outside. He could not feel the rumble of his own voice inside his chest, or feel the cold floor underneath his hands. Suddenly there was something hard against his torso and he thought he might have screamed—

*

“Noel!” Julian said, his own movements loud in the corridor. Noel was walking like he was ill, or hurt, arms wrapped around himself, staggering. The scream was brief, broken, but loud. “Noel,” he said again, softer.

*

But it was just the sharp edge of the locker in the hall where they threw their keys. Noel wanted to be in a cupboard, somewhere where all the edges made sense, but there was a slice of space between the locker and end of the corridor, and he slide into it, feeling the doorframe with his toe. There was still too much space, but he could feel the wall against his back and side, the cold teak of the locker against his cheek. He could feel, again, his own breathing, how ragged it was.

No, please, no please, I can’t, I can’t, please, his voice said inside his head. He bit his lip, willing, willing that moment to come, that moment when everything makes sense again.

*

“Noel.”

“Yes,” he replied softly, hearing, for the first time, his own gulping sobs. He could not make out the pattern of the wood grain in the dim light, but he could feel it against his cheek.

“Will you come out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Noel thought about it. “I’d rather stay here,” he said, at length. It was the sanest response his mind came up with.

“I’m here, love. It’s ok.”

“I know.”

“Will you—” Julian coughed. “Will you tell me about it?”

“Tell you what?”

“Why you’re so afraid.”

“No,” Noel said, bringing his thumb to his lips. He was crying, still, too much to suck on it.

“I know, you know. Or I’ve guessed a lot. You have to tell me some time, love.”

Noel drew his legs closer, feeling their sticky coolness against his chest. He shivered, and thought about the hand on his wrists, bruising his wrists, squeezing more tightly as the cock tried to slide inside him, and then fell out, and then forced its way in again.

“What do you think you know?” he asked. The quaver in his voice was too great for the question to come out distinctly.

“That you were—That you were hurt,” Julian paused.

Noel listened to the intake of breath. Not so easy to talk about is it, eh, Julian? he said inside his head.

“That he—a man—hurt you,” Julian said. “Sexually, and, Noel—”

“What else do you need to know?” Noel said, tracing his thumb over his lips. It felt good to have the wall and the cupboard protecting him. When he was younger, when all this was still new, the best place in the world was the airing cupboard. He missed it.

“If you told me more…”

“Then you would know more.”

“I want to help,” Julian said. Noel could hear how tired he was and suddenly felt profoundly sorry that he had woken him up.

“Why don’t you go back to bed, hm? I’m happy here.”

“You’re behind a cupboard, and you’ve wet yourself,” Julian replied. There was something about the words and the sharpness of the tone of voice that made Noel let out a gasping cry, somewhere between a wail and a scream. Occasionally, something snaps.

“I was eleven when it started,” Noel said, talking softly, like he was directing his words at the locker, not at Julian. He said it as conversationally as he could. “I was eleven, and it was over when I was twelve. That’s only a year, isn’t it, Ju, really? Only a year, so it didn’t ought to affect so much. Only a year and it was a long time ago. You remember funny things, Julian, like the light against the walls in the art room and the smell of poster paint. They never give you proper paint in school, not ever, even the acrylics are funny. Although my art teacher in the school I went to after that one, after I asked my parents to send me somewhere different, she was all right. She showed us how to make tempera, that was nice.”

He sniffed, listened. Julian wasn’t saying anything. He touched the thumb to his front teeth. Tempera. He’d painted a woman, all in blue, monochrome his teacher called it, and her hair had gleamed. He’d been proud of that hair. Her eyes were a bit funny, he remembered, but he’d been really proud of that hair.

He felt something, suddenly, against the back of his hand, and pressed hard away from it. He was against the wall already, though, so there was nowhere to go, and after a second he realised it was his blanket.

“Thanks,” he said very softly, and brought it to his cheek. He could feel his hands shaking.

“It hurts, Julian,” he said. “I don’t know what you want to know. What do you want to know? It hurt, and it went on for ages and it hurt so fucking, fucking badly. I don’t know what else I can tell you. It hurt. It still fucking hurts.”

He was so glad he couldn’t see Julian’s face. He thought about his wrists, and the hands grabbing the crook of his knees and pushing them up to his chest, and his arse all ready to be opened like an envelope. His eyes burnt, but he was crying again, harder than before, so hard he was shaking, and the edges of everything had blurred, been pulled to pieces, everything in front of his eyes had gone as blank and empty as miles and miles of seawater.

*

When the pieces fit together again, he wasn’t behind the cupboard any more, but he was still safely contained. Julian held him, arm supporting his shoulders, the other wrapped around his knees. He could hear Julian’s heart beat under his ear. He blinked slowly, like he was coming out of a deep sleep. They were still beside the front door. It was cool here, he noticed for the first time, and his clothes were wet and cold on his skin.

“Julian,” he whispered.

“There you are,” Julian said. “There you are.” He felt his hair being brushed back from his forehead and the warm breath against his skin. He burrowed his head into the crook of Julian’s neck, snuffling.

He wasn’t sure he could move. He wasn’t sure his limbs would obey him. Everything had made some kind of sense only half an hour ago. His lies had all been in place. He could make up his face every morning and at least pretend that Julian didn’t guess at the truth.

He began to cry again. He wasn’t sure whether he had stopped.

*

Sometimes despair lifts all at once, and your limbs feel strangely light, and you are not sure whether they were never meant to be heavy or if this is a merely a momentary relief. Generally, despair doesn’t lift at all; you are just distracted from it. It was the cold cloth on Noel’s skin that distracted him and the sense that he probably stank and was soaking Julian as well, and the unexpected throb of need in his bladder. Perhaps it had not all spilled out of him during the night. He shifted, embarrassed, wanting only to be held.

“I need—” he murmured into Julian’s neck.

“Yes, love? What do you need?”

“I need to wee,” he said finally.

Julian laughed very softly. “Yeah, me too. And I think we both need a shower. Come on.”

He gently pulled Noel up with him, half lifting him, and put an arm around him. The blanket was still clasped firmly in Noel’s hand. He ran his fingers through it and tucked it over one shoulder, against his neck. His throat and head ached from crying, but he had finally stopped.

*

Julian let him use the loo first, and then while Julian peed, he slid down to the floor, legs unable or unwilling to support him. He touched the blanket to his cheek, his lip. The trousers clung around his knees. He tried to tell his hands to pull them off, but they seemed to have no intention of listening to him.

In the end, Julian did it. It was light outside now, pale but light, and they both seemed to be avoiding electricity so the edges of Julian’s features remained blurred. He balled up the wet cloth and carefully stood Noel up. He gently tried to take the blanket from Noel, and Noel was embarrassed by the needy whimper that came from his lips when he did so.

“You don’t want it to get wet, love,” Julian said. He took it gently from Noel’s hand. “It’ll be right here, hm? On the towel rail. You’ll be able to see it.”

Noel nodded, looking at its smallness among the towels.

*

He snuggled in to Julian in the hot water, burying his head in his neck. Warm here, and dark, especially with his eyes closed. Safe, he told himself, safe here. He thought about cupboards, about edges, he thought about not dreaming any more. He wondered what it would be like to walk around camouflaged, not to think that everyone could see, and know.

“I can’t wash you when you’re like that,” Julian said, still gentle. He removed Noel’s head from his shoulder, and Noel felt the hot water hitting his eyes, his face, stinging his skin.

*

He imagined not dreaming, and camouflage. He could hear Julian moving in the kitchen; so he wasn’t far away, really, but Noel still felt lost. He closed his eyes and drifted, imagined silver water full of whales, imagined being allowed to let go.

*

As much as Noel wanted to be held, Julian wondered whether his need to hold him wasn’t greater. He sat him down in front of the plate of toast and eggs, unable to resist running a hand through his hair, touching his neck, making sure he was still there.

“Eat something,” he said gently, as he finished off his own in what felt like a few bites. Noel looked at the toast, the whites of the eggs. He usually left the blanket safely on the sofa if he couldn’t bring himself to abandon it in bed, but today he kept it looped around his neck. His hands were on it, rather than the knife and fork.

Julian stood up and pushed the chair away with a squeak on the tiles that made Noel wince. He gently slid Noel off his own chair and sat on it himself, pulling Noel onto his lap. It felt much better like that, Noel’s weight on him. He felt him nuzzle his neck, letting out a soft contented sound.

“Come on,” he said, “before your food gets cold. I’m here to help you eat, not to cuddle.”

“Think you’re here for both,” Noel said, showing no sign of paying any attention to the food.

Julian smiled but settled him into a more upright position, Noel’s legs dangling against the chair’s, and started to cut up the egg. Noel looked at the yolk pooling across the plate distastefully, and took a piece of toast. He carefully put the blanket to one side so that it wouldn’t get crumby.

“You’re not going to eat any egg? It’s good for you. So much protein.”

Noel laughed. “I think I’m alright.”

“You’re not,” Julian said firmly.

“You mean not alright as in protein deficiency, or in a more general way?”

“Bit of both,” Julian said, and tried to direct a forkful of egg in the general direction of Noel’s mouth. Noel turned his head away, and Julian was forced to let it dribble back on to the plate. “You’ll never grow up big and strong if you don’t eat your egg,” he teased.

“I think we both know that I’m already grown up and I’ll never be big, or strong,” Noel said. He was joking, but for some reason his eyes were pricking, too. He rubbed them with the back of his hand. “Fuck.”

“Not a good day, eh?” Julian said softly.

*

“It was your art teacher?” Julian asked. “Was it?”

Noel went stiff in his arms, and Julian thought he might be about to roll off the sofa. He held him still, and said, “Sorry, Noel.”

“I’ve told you lots,” Noel said. “Talking about it doesn’t help. It’s all lies.”

“Ok,” he said, and ran his hand through Noel’s hair. Noel thought about the endless pacing and laid his head on Julian’s lap, settling the blanket under his cheek.

“What’s all lies?” Julian asked.

“I want it all to be lies. It’s story I made up, except it’s not.”

“It’s not,” Julian said, very softly, so that, had the room not been so still, Noel might not have heard him. But he did, and he sighed so deeply it was more like a sob.

“Can I sleep now, Julian?” he asked.

“Of course,” Julian said, and stroked his side, listening to the rhythmic sounds of thumb sucking until they faded and Noel really was asleep.

*

“Noel!”

He woke all at once, tumbling out of the strange light of dreaming.

“You were talking,” Julian said.

He felt heat and dampness at his crotch, and his bladder felt like it had every intention continuing to empty itself.

“Fuck, I wet…”

“Not much,” Julian said, feeling the sofa’s dryness.

Noel clamped a hand over his crotch. “Fuck,” he said again, and scrambled up, his groin throbbing uncomfortably. He dashed to the bathroom, skin feeling damp and sticky again.

His pants, he discovered, were wet, unwearable, but his jeans were ok. He washed himself half-heartedly and pulled them back on.

“Twice in one day. If you hadn’t woken me… Fuck this, Julian,” he said, standing in the door of the sitting room. He chewed his lip, the imagery fresh in his mind. The dreams made it all worse, he thought, though even without them an hour did not go by when he was not reminded of all this, whether in dreams or waking.

He put the back of his hand to his mouth, to his eyes. “Julian,” he pleaded.

*

He paced, again, from room to room, wanting to settle in Julian’s arms where it was safe, but afraid to keep still. He kept the blanket in his arms, touching it to his cheek, rubbing the silky parts with his hands. It seemed the only thing that would keep him safe.

He wondered if he’d had one of these as a baby. He could not remember it. He’d only needed it after. After. He should be used, he thought, to this useless energy, this fear at something long past that made him want to scream and cry, made it so hard to keep still, to take deep breaths. He never was, though, never used to it or free from all this: it came back, doggedly, endlessly, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

*

Eventually he sat on the sitting room floor, drawing with his markers, much too tired to bother with tubes of paint and oil. The markers didn’t produce strokes dark enough for him or give him the expanses of colour he wanted, but the brief, stubby lines he could make were expressive too, in their way. He wasn’t sure what he drew: clouds, water, animals lurking in the background. He didn’t bother to think about it coherently. He rolled onto his stomach, the stretch of his forearms cut short by the floorboards under him, making his strokes even shorter, more like stabs. The comfort blanket tickled his neck.

Julian sat down next to him and stroked back his hair. “Hello, little one,” he said softly.

“Hello yourself,” Noel said, shading.

“Is that me?”

Noel giggled. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“What then?”

“Fuck knows. My inner thoughts and feelings. Or maybe it’s a porcupine.” He rolled over onto his back and looked up at Julian, who stroked his cheek.

“It’s still early,” Julian said. “Only noon.”

“Noon on a Tuesday. Remember when noon on a Tuesday meant sitting in school and all sorts?”

“We’re lucky,” Julian said tonelessly.

“What do people do at noon on a Tuesday?” Noel grinned, rubbing his cheek with the satin corner of the blanket. “I quite like saying ‘noon’.”

“Can’t imagine. Sleep?”

“That’s clearly not a good idea,” Noel said. He sat up a bit, so he could rest his head on Julian’s shoulder. He felt shaky, like he might cry again at any moment. He slid his thumb into his mouth comfortingly, breathing slowly. “Can we go and see the dinosaurs?” he said, around it.

“The dinosaurs?”

“Yeah. You know. Big and scary. Quite skeletal. Not very cuddly.”

Julian laughed. “Yeah, ok.”

“Can we get a taxi?”

“Of course. We haven’t got buses since the first series.”

“Can I bring my blanket?”

“Not sure if you should, Noel,” Julian said, hand ghosting over his cheek.

“Want to,” Noel said. He rubbed it against his nose, smelling the familiar scent. “Please.”

Julian smiled, images of Noel trailing after him, blanket over his shoulder flickering through his mind. “We’ll put it in a bag, shall we?”

Noel thought. “Yeah.” He let out another long sigh, and thought about the metal corridor through the rows of dinosaurs, their grinning skulls only a breath away.

*

All the energy had gone out of him, and he loved feeling Julian take his hand and lead him to the taxi. He’d firmly taken the blanket out of Noel’s hands and slid it into an old rucksack. It was much too big to hold just that, and Noel sat it on his knee as he settled in the taxi, making sure it was still in there.

He always tried not to suck his thumb in public places, in taxis, when with other people, but today he couldn’t be bothered with that rule.

“You ok?” Julian asked him softly. Noel was blinking too much, that constant, nervous flutter of lids he went in for after bad nights.

Noel shook his head and then nodded, which he reckoned was a fair assessment of things.

He resisted sucking in the queue for the dinosaurs, standing in the ugly grey-carpeted corridor and wondering who all these people were and why they’d all decided to come to the Natural History Museum. Julian stroked his arm gently.

“When was the last time you were here?”

“When I was little enough to be really scared of them,” Noel said.

Julian squeezed his arm. “You won’t be now?”

“I expect I’ll cope.”

*

Julian watched him as he took in the dinosaurs, his eyes wide, following the contours of the forest of bone that spread out around them. They reminded Julian a little of one of Noel’s paintings: bizarre but not unfriendly. There was not enough contrast of light and shadow in the museum building to give the skeletons a proper sense of depth, and they looked more like painting or sculpture fashioned to strange thinness by its artist than anything that had one lived or breathed.

Noel leant over the barrier. The crowd surged around them, but did not drag them along in its wake.

“Like?” he asked him eventually, as the feet clanged and Noel and the dinosaurs remained intent and still.

“They’re proper monsters, aren’t they?” Noel said, smiling, and touched his thumb to his lips.

*

Outside, they sat on the steps, Noel fiddling with the zips on the rucksack, eyes glassy and far away.

“Should we head home?” Julian asked.

He blinked slowly, coming back to earth. “Want a cuddle,” he said, edging closer to Julian.

“Later, yeah?” Julian said, stroking his arm, which both serves as a way to comfort him and a way to make him keep his distance. Julian remembered early in their relationship, fending off Noel when they came out of clubs, Noel’s hands all over him.

“Ok,” Noel said softly. He started to open the rucksack and then closed it again.

“We’ll go home. We’ll do something more later, if you want to, ok?” he said, and herded Noel back towards the exit. Noel followed, touching his sleeve.

He opened the bag and slid his hand into when they were safely inside a cab, sitting close against Julian, fingers, in the dark interior, fondling the blanket where it was rolled at the very bottom.

Julian sighed, thinking about how small he looked, how much he wanted to lock him away from everything, to keep him safe, his.

“We have to talk about you not sleeping,” he said, lips brushing against Noel’s hair.

“Do we?” Noel said, pressing his thumb to his mouth.

“Yeah. I’ve thought of something that might make it easier for you to sleep through the night.”

“Have you?”

“I’m not sure you’ll like it, though.”

Noel tilted his head and glanced up at him, looking expectant. It was the same sort of expression he’d had when he’d once told Julian, years ago, “you’re so perverted. It’s brilliant.”

“I think it might be a good idea to wear a nappy,” he said, so softly he was sure the driver wouldn’t here.

Noel slid his hand slowly out of the rucksack, and stretched his slim fingers. The moment seemed to go on for a very long time. Julian thought he blushed. Then he said, “yeah, ok.”

*

“The fact that you’d already bought them worries me just a teeny bit,” Noel said.

“It was an impulse,” Julian said.

“Well, yes. A bit of an unusual impulse. But that’s ok. You’re forgiven.”

“You didn’t complain when I bought you the blanket,” Julian said, feeling its ubiquitous presence in Noel’s hand.

“I’m not complaining now. You have excellent ideas. This is just a first, that’s all.”

He let out a long breath and curled away from Julian on the other side of the sofa. “When are you going to do this?”

“I’m going to put you to bed soon. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you, little one? Not much sleep and then the dinosaurs, and then all that drawing this afternoon. You can brush your teeth, and we’ll get you into your pyjamas. We’ll put your nappy on then. You’ll go to sleep then, won’t you? Especially if I tell you a story.”

Noel was looking at him strangely, a look that was both nervous and pleased. He slid his thumb into his mouth and sucked on it hard. Then he said, “yes. That sounds good.”

*

He woke to Noel, murmuring, skin hot against Julian. He back was pressed against Julian’s front, Julian’s thigh between his legs, and Julian reached over him to stroke his cheek, his arm, to soothe him. The blanket had rolled out of his hands and Julian brought it back, spreading it out on the pillow by his cheek. Noel squirmed, and Julian felt a heat through the nappy, against his leg, and he touched Noel’s neck, whispering soothingly, “baby. It’s ok.”

He was sure Noel must have woken, then, but all it once he grew still again, and Julian heard, softly, the sound of his thumb moving in his mouth. He stroked Noel’s hot cheek and closed his eyes, congratulating himself, his arms wonderfully full of placid, wet Noel.

*

“It’s all wet,” Noel said. A little shiver ran through him, eyelids fluttering. He was trying to untangle his limbs from Julian.

“That’s ok,” Julian said, half-awake, stroking whatever part of Noel was closest to him. “That’s what it’s for.”

He woke more when he realised Noel was crying, a thin string of tears on his cheek.

“What’s wrong?” he said into Noel’s neck, feeling very hot with Noel pressed so close, but not wanting him to leave, either.

“Nothing,” Noel said. “Last night. Dreams. I don’t know. Usual.”

Julian sat up unwillingly, and slid the duvet off them. “You are all wet, aren’t you? I think I’ll put you in the bath.”

Noel nodded and sat up too. He rubbed the back of his wrist against his eyes and then his mouth, and sighed softly. When his eyes met Julian’s again they were more focused, the glassy, teary look diminished.

He was plaint, that morning, and Julian liked that. He ignored the insistent way his cock twitched as Noel allowed him to pull his t-shirt over his head, take off the wet nappy and untangle the blanket from his hand, folding it over the towel rail again.

Noel sat sleepily in the warm water, steam beading in his hair, watching as Julian moved around the bathroom, shaving and brushing his teeth. He didn’t move to wash himself, but let Julian pour warm water over his hair and back after he had finished his own ablutions.

He wished he’d dreamed about the dinosaurs, that night, outsiders, like him, allowed only to stand in their quiet throng with sockets dry of eyes. He watched Julian's hands splashing the warm water onto his skin. Was he allowed to do this, really? To let Julian look after him like this?

He though about himself following Julian’s breaths that night, never waking. Following the soft sounds of the tide of the night. The dinosaurs stood there, dry and sleepless, every night, while he, pacing, could not be one of them. He did not think he could ever, really, be part of the cool flow of the night, either. Julian could. Julian could do a lot of things that he couldn’t.

His comfort blanket looked small, next to the white towels, and a little grey. He wanted it, again, in his hands.

“There’s no hope for us,” he said, as Julian poured the hot water over his head, the last of the soap flowing with it out of his hair.

“Good boy,” Julian said, and smiled at him. Noel smiled back. Then, Julian, perhaps hearing him, said, “Of course there is. Of course there is.”


	12. An Aside: Red Pandas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains nappies

Julian was pressed against his back, naked and warm. Noel shifted closer to him, feeling the movement of Julian’s chest against his ribs. He felt very content: he’d slept through the night for once, and his nappy was warm and dry around him. The comfort blanket hadn’t rolled away as it sometimes did, but was safe under his cheek. Julian had wrapped his fingers loosely around Noel’s wrist so he could feel the vibrations in it while Noel sucked. Noel murmured contentedly. His mouth had slackened round his thumb during the night, but feeling his wrist warm under Julian’s hand he resumed sucking.

There was only one problem: his bladder was uncomfortably full. He squirmed his hips a little bit, trying to get comfortable. If he moved, he knew he’d wake Julian and they’d have to get up out of the cosy nest and face the day. He felt Julian’s sleepy breaths against his skin and the blanket’s silky edge pressing against his cheek. His limbs were heavy. Getting up just wasn’t an option.

He’d never wet his nappy on purpose before. He often woke with it sodden after he’d wet himself in his sleep, but he’d never let go in it intentionally before. He did so now, at first feeling a little guilty as the hot piss released from him in the warm confines of the bed, like he was crossing a boundary. Letting go felt wonderful, though: a little bit naughty, and also very familiar, the lovely heat filling the padding and tickling his skin.

He closed his eyes again. The edge of Julian’s thigh was pressed against the back of his legs, and he shifted a little so his padded bum rested in the warm curve where Julian’s abdomen turned into hip. Abruptly, Julian’s hand moved: thumb stroking the line of Noel’s tendon as it worked its way down his forearm. Noel kept very still, sucking his thumb harder.

Julian’s other hand reached around and touched the crotch of Noel’s nappy, where it was warm and a little saggy.

“Did you just wet?” he asked.

Noel withdrew the thumb a little, letting it rest against his lip. “Maybe.”

“Mm, you’re all warm,” Julian said, hand exploring further.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Noel said.

“I could feel you squirming around,” Julian said with a laugh. He kissed Noel’s neck.

“You’re not angry?”

“About what?”

“That I wet my nappy,” Noel said, anxiously biting his thumb.

“Of course not,” Julian said, “don’t be an idiot. That’s what it’s there for. Besides, now you’re all lovely and warm.”

“Mm,” Noel stretched, rubbing back against Julian, feeling the hardness of his cock against the back of his nappy.

“Can we stay here all day? Not have to do anything?”

“It’s lovely out,” Julian said. He rubbed his cock against the wet heat of Noel’s arse and Noel pressed back, grinding.

Noel looked at the long trails of sunlight that streamed in from the chinks in the curtains. “I suppose.”

Julian pressed a hand to Noel’s stomach and pulled him flush, Noel rocking against him, the contours of their bodies fitting together. Julian’s cock pressed against the confines of Noel’s nappy, into the cleft of his arse. “What would you most like to do today, hm?” Julian asked.

Noel sucked his thumb and thought. “We can’t stay here?”

“I don’t think so,” Julian said. Noel felt the heat of Julian’s erection against the small of his back as he rubbed on, up, over the band of Noel’s nappy. Noel untangled his hand from the folds of his blanket and brought it down, wrapping it around Julian’s cock. Julian let out a low groan.

“I want to see the lemurs,” Noel said around his thumb. “And the porcupines.”

“You want to go to the zoo?” Julian said, voice strangled as Noel’s hand pumped him, fingers tracing the veins. Noel found the head and teased it gently with one finger, the rest of his hand wrapped hotly around Julian, squeezing.

“Yes,” Noel said. “Can we go to the zoo, Julian?”

“Yeah, of course we can,” Julian said brokenly, and, with a low moan, came against Noel’s back.

They lay still for a few moments, sticky, breaths heavy. Noel could feel the various liquids cooling uncomfortably against his skin, the duvet suddenly too hot.

“Think I need a bath, Julian,” he said.

“Think you do, too,” Julian said, sitting up.

Noel followed Julian into the bathroom in just his nappy, comfort blanket thrown over his shoulder. He sat on the edge of the bath, waiting for the tap to run hot, watching with mild interest as Julian peed.

“Let’s get this off you, eh?” Julian said, and pulled the nappy down. Noel felt the cold air on his cock. He was already half-hard, but it sent an insistent throb through him. Julian’s finger’s lightly brushed the head of his cock and then stroked too gently down the length. The taps sounded too loud in Noel’s ears and he shivered warmly.

“Harder, Ju,” he whispered, biting his thumb.

Julian chuckled and took Noel’s cock in his fist, the piss that still clung to Noel’s skin making it slick.

“Don’t stop,” Noel groaned as Julian reached over to turn off the hot tap. Julian smiled, sitting him down on the edge of the bath. It was hard and cold against his thighs, but Noel didn’t notice as Julian’s hand returned to his skin and rubbed harder. He felt dizzy with the sensation of it: the piss drying on his skin and Julian’s fingers, so familiar with what he liked, surrounding the length of him. He came hard, nearly toppling back into the bath. Julian put an arm around his shoulders and smiled down at him, holding him steady as the orgasm died away.

“Mm,” Noel said, resting his head on Julian’s stomach and sucking his thumb.

“Come on, little one,” Julian said. “Bath time.”

He took Noel’s blanket off his shoulders and hung it with the towels, and Noel gingerly dabbed at the hot bathwater, feeling the come drying on his skin.

“In you get,” Julian said, guiding him down.

“You come in too,” Noel said.

“There’s not room for both of us,” Julian said. “You know that.” He stuck his hand into the hot water and splashed it onto Noel’s back.

*

Julian got Noel dressed in his usual clothes, although using colours a bit more sombre than sometimes in an attempt to avoid attracting too much attention.

Noel sat on the kitchen stool, comfort blanket against his cheek, drawing a giraffe, while Julian clattered about making himself breakfast. He’d stopped asking Noel what he wanted to eat because Noel never knew, and started just handing him food.

He put a plate of toast down on the table, carefully avoiding the giraffe.

“Give me your blanket, and eat your toast like a big boy.”

“Busy. Drawing,” Noel said, adding another spot. Giraffes were hard work.

Julian let him finish the line he was working on and then carefully took the pen out of his hand.

Noel pouted. “Don’t like toast.”

“You do. Eat it up.”

He felt the blanket being removed from his neck and stared disconsolately at the toast. It looked too big and was greasy with butter. Julian sat at the other side of the table, munching, watching him.

“I don’t want to have to feed you.”

Noel grinned at him. “I like it when you feed me.”

“I only do it because it’s the only way to get you to eat anything, you bad boy,” Julian said. They both knew that wasn’t true.

When Julian had finished his meal, Noel took his plate and walked around the table, settling himself on Julian’s lap. He kissed Julian’s neck and rested his head on Julian’s shoulder. Julian stroked his back, wrapping his arm around him.

“Take your thumb out,” Julian said softly after a moment had passed. “You’re distracting me from the task at hand.”

“Am not,” Noel said, around the thumb, and Julian caught his wrist, tugging it firmly out of his mouth.

Noel pouted, but consented to munch the toast.

*

“Can we see the elephants? Or the red panda? Or the lemurs?”

Noel hopped up and down on the balls of his feet. The path into the zoo stretched tantalisingly in both directions. He looked at Julian expectantly.

“We can see them all, little one. Which do you want to see first?”

Noel looked eagerly in both ways, and then set off along the uphill path, following the arrows with embossed images of meerkats on them. Julian smiled, and followed him, the light rucksack, which contained only Noel’s blanket and a spare pair of jeans bouncing on his shoulders.

He caught up with Noel leaning over the barrier of the red pandas’ enclosure. One was stretched out on the sand, eking out the most of the feeble May sunlight, while the other sat on a low branch of the tree, quite near Noel, washing its tail.

“That’s right,” Noel was saying to it, “you’ve got a very fine tail, you should definitely keep it clean. If I had a tail like that I’d put conditioner in it every morning. It’s a great colour too, is that all natural?”

Julian put his hand lightly on the back of Noel’s neck and said, “If it does dye its tail I don’t think it’s going to admit it to you.”

“Its secret would be safe with me. I admit that I dye my hair.”

“But that’s not hard to guess,” Julian said. A gaggle of people thronged behind them and Noel stood up straighter. Julian brushed their knuckles gently together.

“Lemurs?” he suggested, and Noel nodded eagerly.

It was a fairly modern zoo, and most of the enclosures were large, animals camouflaging themselves among greenery and rocks. Small children whined and demanded ice cream, but Noel was different. He was totally focused on the cages with a childlike enthusiasm, but with an intensity that Julian rarely saw in him. Julian invariably got bored first, looking for the next thing, while Noel admired the streaks of tawny fur that moved in the distance.

They got to the lemurs after about an hour, waylaid by a large area referred to as “African Plains” and devoted to large enclosures for the elephants or giraffes to roam in. A group of chimpanzees ignored their outdoor haunt and watched TV listlessly in a straw-lined room.

“They’re so bored,” Noel said, looking upset. He hurried on to the lemurs, which darted between the trees and tires in their cage, attracting a large crowd by their playfulness. Julian followed him more slowly, wondering if they could stop for lunch soon.

He watched as a small lemur swung from a low branch to a timber platform, and sat there agilely coiling its tail along his back. “As good as the red panda’s?” he asked.

He looked around, and realised Noel wasn’t beside him. A quick glance at the crowd didn’t reveal any black locks or cowboy boots. He stepped back so he could see the people thronging around the cage more clearly, expecting Noel to appear at any moment.

There was no sign of him in the crowd nearest Julian. “Noel?” he called, but not too loudly, and walked around the side of the cage. He didn’t see Noel anywhere, and tried to quell the rising bubble of panic, telling himself that Noel had just wandered off to see the next thing.

He walked briskly to the next enclosure, eyes flicking through the crowd of people admiring the sea lions. Noel definitely wasn’t one of them, either, so he kept walking, passing otters and a polar bear.

The note of anxiety was rising in Julian chest, and then, just as quickly as he’d lost site of him, there was Noel, standing buy a duck pond, looking around him wildly, face damp with tears. Julian walked quickly towards him, and Noel was so intent on looking around anxiously that he didn’t notice Julian until he was right beside him.

“Where did you go?” Noel cried, voice soft but choked with tears. Julian took his hand tenderly, heedless anyone who might look.

“I’m here, little one, it’s ok,” he said, and felt Noel bury his wet face in his neck. He had not noticed that his heart had been racing, but as he felt Noel snuffle against his skin, it slowed down. He put his arm around Noel’s shoulder and led him towards a more enclosed, tree-lined part of the path, beside the flamingo’s beach.

There he hugged him properly, feeling Noel shiver in his arms.

“Thought you’d gone,” Noel said.

“Course not,” Julian said. “We just go separated.”

“Ok,” Noel snuffled, “ok.” Julian heard the sound of his thumb in his mouth, and held him protectively against his chest.

“You want to go home?” he asked.

Noel replied, in the muffled voice Julian was now familiar with, “want to see the other animals. Want to see the wolves. Want my blanket, though.”

“It’s right here in my bag. You can have it when we get back to the car, ok?”

“Ok,” Noel said. Julian let him go gently, and Noel slowly slid the thumb out of his mouth and rubbed the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Flamingos are good, aren’t they?” Noel said after a moment, watching them. “Would you like me if I had legs like that?”

“What, long pink twigs? Might be a bit odd.”

“I suppose. Still, they have noses a bit like me.”

“Yours is much too squashed for that,” Julian said, touching it gently.

“Still think I’d make a fine flamingo.”

“You could dress like one. Wear some pink feathers.”

“Might do,” Noel said. “I missed the sea lions because I was scared you were gone. Can we go back?”

“Course we can,” Julian said, and brushed his knuckles warmly against Noel’s as they started walking.

*

Noel looked lovingly at the toys in the gift shop, lightly touching the elephants’ trunks and the lemurs’ long tails.

“Do you want one?” Julian asked.

“Can I?” Noel said.

“You’re spoiled rotten, but yes.”

Noel looked at them, delicately pressing his finger to a wolf’s nose. “Can’t decide, Julian.” He tore himself away, giving an elephant a longing glance.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Maybe some other time,” he said, and slipped out ahead of Julian. Julian glanced at the elephant thoughtfully, and wondered if he’d figured out a present Noel would like.

“You said I could have my blanket?” Noel said as soon as they were in the car.

“It’s in the bag,” Julian said, handing it to him. In the same gesture, he found himself reaching out to touch Noel’s cheek. Noel met his glance and leant forward. They kissed wetly, tongues delving deeply into each other’s mouths. Julian pressed the tips of his fingers into Noel’s skull, not wanting to let go.

“Was a good day,” Noel said, smiling at him, as he started the car. Noel slid low in his seat, pressing his knees into the dashboard.

“It was,” Julian agreed, watching as he nuzzled the comfort blanket, thumb in mouth.

“Think I should get my hair done red panda red?”

“I think it looks better on the red panda,” Julian said gently. Noel nodded, sucking softly, lids heavy as he watched Julian drive.


	13. An Aside: Comfort Comes

Without the weight of sleep on his limbs, he can’t stop shaking. He’d been on the brink of waking for a long time, halted by the bright images of his dreams, but acutely aware of his immobile limbs. When the quiet darkness of the bedroom fills his eyes, the shaking begins. It seizes him, beginning in his chest, like a bird has taken over the cavity where his heart belongs and is beating against the bones instead. The tremble in his limbs begins at the elbows and then spreads along the sinew.

For a moment, he’s not even aware of Julian’s hand on his cheek. He’s only aware of the bird, the fluttering, terrified bird striking at the cage of his ribs, striking and striking, its wings being crushed and bruised.

He feels it then, the fingers. At moments like these, his skin always feels like it’s loosing its boundaries, like it’s somehow leaking into the air around him. Like he, Noel, has no skin, but is just shiver and fear leaking straight out into the atmosphere. Julian’s fingers remind him that he’s there, he’s real.

He hears the voice next, the slow, soft voice. It’s deep in the quiet room. He can hear it almost to the soles of his feet. He can’t quite focus on the words, is too lost, still, in the tremors that run through him. It laps at his mind, gentle, urging the fear away.

“It’s all right, love, look at me, hm? It’s all right.” The words gradually turn into sense in his mind, and he unclenches his teeth slowly. He raises an arm, trying to force away the shiver. Julian wraps a hand around his wrist. He’s sitting beside him on the bed, Noel is almost aware of a knee near his hip.

“Come here,” he says, “Hm?” He puts an arm around Noel’s shoulders and Noel likes the heavy warmth of the pressure of those muscles pulling him up, against Julian’s chest. He presses his ear to Julian’s skin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. It’s only with it against his ear that he remembers how to breathe properly again.

The shiver lets go of his arms, and they feel weak, useless. He loops them loosely around Julian’s shoulders and begins to cry. Sometimes he can dredge up embarrassment about crying, but not now, not at night, not like this. Julian smoothes back his ear and coos more nonsense. Noel can feel the rumble in Julian’s chest. The bird’s wings drop, fluttering slowly. Its franticness is gone.

“Ju,” Noel whispers.

“I’ve got you.”

“I know.”

He listens to the rumble that begins just before the words are spoken and steady throb of the heart. He sighs slowly. “Woke you up.”

“You generally do,” Julian agrees.

“I can’t sleep now.”

“You will.”

Noel snuffles, nuzzling closer to Julian. A hand strokes his shoulder, the skin just above the neck of his t-shirt. Noel murmurs, a residual quiver running through him. He feels light-headed, made of air.

“Tell me a story?”

“What about?”

“Badgers. And lions. And… I don’t know, Ju. Something.”

“If you want.”

Noel settles more comfortably in Julian’s arms and Julian tells him, speaking softly, spinning only nonsense. Noel feels the grumble of the words under his ear, only just following the meaning of Julian’s words.

“Like that?”

“Was ridiculous,” Noel says.

“Sleepy yet?”

“Scared, Ju. Scared.” He suppresses the desire to cry again. Julian’s hand, on his wrist, squeezes harder, “Blanket?” he asks, dipping his face.

“I think you knocked it off the bed.” He feels the cool air against his back as Julian pulls away from him.

He touches it to Noel’s cheek. Noel smiles a little, tilting his head towards him. He takes it, rubs it against the side of his nose, leaning in to Julian.

“Got you something a while ago. In case you… Well, I though you might like it.”

“You sound nervous,” Noel says softly.

“Shh, you. Do you want to see?”

“Mm.”

Julian switches the light on, Noel blinking in the glare. The suddenness of the brightness almost upsets him again, but he does his best to remind himself that being scared of that is just too silly.

Julian opens his bedside drawer and takes out a small plastic object. It takes Noel a second to work out what it is.

“A soother?” he says.

It’s white, and has a skull motif on the plastic part. It looks very small in the palm of Julian’s hand.

“The skull’s quite rock and roll,” Noel says and laughs into Julian’s neck, breath wet against his skin.

“I though so,” Julian says earnestly.

“You buy the best presents,” Noel says. It’s sincere, but his voice is still shaky with laughter.

“I do. Want to try?”

“Don’t you approve of my thumb any more?”

Julian smiles and strokes back his hair. “I thought you might like to try this as well.”

Noel takes it, surprised by the amount of trepidation he feels, and brings it to his lips. In his mouth, it’s a little shorter than his thumb, but just as wide, and much smoother. He sucks slowly, getting used to the feeling. He blinks up at Julian anxiously.

Julian is looking back at him, face slightly flushed, his lips just parted. Noel takes it out carefully, holding the wet part away from his palm.

“It’s good. You’re right. It’s good.”

Julian smiles. “It’s just for when you can’t sleep.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I may like it too much,” Julian says. “Let’s lie down, hm?”

Noel blinks at him and puts the soother back into his mouth. It’s a little strange, still, but soft and smooth. He sucks harder. Julian watches him for a long moment and then switches the light off again. He sags onto the bed and Noel settles onto his chest, tucking the blanket under his cheek.

“I’m not going to sleep,” he says, soother, unlike his thumb, dropping onto Julian’s chest when speaks.

“Of course not.”

“You can if you like.”

“You’re most kind.” Julian touches his cheek gently, and lifts up the soother, touching it to Noel’s lips. Noel resumes sucking gladly, trying not to let his eyes drift shut or let the slow sounds of Julian’s breath sooth him. It doesn’t work. Noel’s limbs become heavy again and he remembers that there’s no arguing with Julian, even when he’s asleep.


	14. Expressely Promising Things

_Where could you contain her,  
with all the vast strange thoughts in you  
going in and out, and often staying the night?_  
-Rilke, Duineser Elegie

“We’re late,” Julian said.

“Are we?”

The light seemed pale, like the sky had been painted with a brush that was too dry. Noel lay under the skylight, watching it, one hand tickling the bare skin of his stomach. He waited for clouds or birds to pass across the horizontal of day, but the view remained unobstructed by any movement. It made him feel slightly light-headed.

“Yes. You’re not ready. You’re not dressed.”

“I’m waiting,” Noel said.

“Get up.”

“Waiting. For a demon made out of vapour and feathers. I’d make do with a fucking seagull.”

“We have to leave. Now, Noel.”

“Do we?”

Julian prodded him lightly with the toe of his boot. “Yes.”

Noel tore his eyes from the square of space and looked up at Julian. He scrambled inelegantly to his feet. The curtains were still closed in their bedroom, and the bed was rumpled. The dim light made the room look strangely unlived in, despite the clutter on the bedside lockers and piles of his clothes on the chairs. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked forlornly at a pink hat on the floor. He was wearing last night’s pyjama bottoms and suddenly the thought of having to stand up and find something else seemed impossible.

He found his blanket balled up between their pillows and brought it to his cheek, breathing in its scent. He sighed, staring at the clothes, the jeans with their legs tangled together, the crumpled t-shirts, the cupboard doors he hadn’t bothered closing. The colours glared at him, and he put his thumb in his mouth and didn’t respond.

“Noel!”

He lay back on the bed, curling his body so it fit with the curve of the duvet. He tried to make his breathing very, very slow. The room was dim; with his eyes closed it was soothing.

“You’re not asleep.”

Noel opened them again and looked at Julian’s t-shirt.

“The taxi’s here.”

Noel kept sucking the thumb. Julian looked at him and didn’t say anything either. Noel wondered how long the moment could go on. The shaft of daylight was still pale, but it could get brighter. He could still see the pink hat. It was the way the light fell on it, casting a shadow within the brim, and reflecting the pink colour on to the shiny wooden floor, that made the desire to cry rise within him, not this conversation. Not the thought of the taxi outside and this room being left entirely empty and silent.

“I can go without you,” Julian said. Noel was glad he’d said it first. “It’s a meeting that would go a lot better if you were there too, you know. They won’t think you’re committed, will they, Noel, if you don’t show up.”

He didn’t think he could ever draw that reflection accurately. He didn’t enjoy working with tone and had made that a feature of his paintings. He imagined it, though, quietly. That light perfectly captured.

“Fuck,” Julian said. Noel did his best not to listen to him leaving.

*

He didn’t sleep again, although he would have liked to. He lay still, stroking his nose lightly as he sucked his thumb, trying to keep his breaths even. The flat was too quiet now. He could not even hear the distant sounds of others in their flats, but could just hear the quiet sucking sounds he made, loud in the noiselessness. The soundlessness of a place that is empty of others is different from the soundlessness when other people are also moving quietly in their rooms. If you hear a sound in an empty house, it is something to be thought about, perhaps to make you anxious, not something unremarkable. Noel lay and listened for a long time.

He got up again slowly, dressed, and wandered from room to room. His hair fell greasily against his shoulders, and looked tangled in the mirrors. He didn’t look for too long—he could see a spot beginning at his eyebrow and on his jaw line, and he felt thin and grimy and unpleasant. Sometimes he liked to imagine that people were watching his every move and admiring it look how gracefully Fielding picked up that apple! And look at the agile lines of his limbs as he relaxes!, but today he was very glad no one could. He felt exposed even on his own, and kept the blanket close to his face.

“Do you want me to feel guilty, Julian?” he asked inside his head. He didn’t know whether he could have gone, though. He only looked out the skylights, not from windows that might reveal another person.

*

He laid out a piece of A2 paper on the kitchen table. It had been kept rolled, and he had to put the saltcellar and a coffee cup on two of its corners to keep it flat. He drew on it lightly trying to work out a shape, a composition. He’d put off sitting down to draw for several hours, but now that he had begun, he felt completely absorbed.

He heard Julian’s key in the lock, but kept drawing. He was nervous suddenly. He didn’t know what he would say.

“Bad day,” Julian said.

Noel wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. He ducked his head towards the drawing and put the stick of charcoal down. It rolled across the paper, leaving a faint black smudge. He put his thumb in his mouth again, tasting charcoal and sucking it off.

“You should have been there, Noel. They’re pulling our budget. Again.”

He looked at the smudge of charcoal, ruining the cleanness of the page he had so laboriously preserved while he drew. “Oh,” he said, around the thumb.

“Have you just been sitting here all day?”

Noel wanted to protest that this drawing was difficult and took a lot of concentration, but he didn’t think saying that would be appreciated. He nodded.

“Bad day for you too?” Julian asked.

Noel shrugged.

“This isn’t going to become a regular thing, is it?”

“Sorry, Julian.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know,” Noel said.

“Ok,” Julian said. He sat on the chair across from Noel and sighed. Noel put the charcoal back into its box and wedged his stump behind the saltcellar so it wouldn’t smudge the paper too. He went over to Julian’s chair and stood beside it, idly playing with Julian’s hair. They rarely used the kitchen, and aside from the charcoals, it was very tidy, almost sterile. Noel suddenly longed for a pattern of crumbs across the table or a magnet on the fridge.

Noel made to sit on Julian’s knee, but Julian caught him gently. “On the floor,” he said, and stroked Noel’s back. Noel looked at him curiously but settled by Julian knees. He sucked his thumb for a second, and then looked up at Julian and asked, “Do you want me to give you a blowjob?”

Julian made a faint choking sound and shook his head. He looked away, towards the shiny, unused pots on their shelf, and beyond them, at something that didn’t appear to be there at all. “I was more thinking,” he said, “that you might need a playpen.”

“Oh,” Noel said. He bit his thumb. “Might I?”

“Yes.”

Noel looked up at him, circling his knees with his hands. “I don’t think so.”

“We’ll try it out.”

He hadn’t bought one yet. (Noel thought there might be a yet involved.) He made one by laying the chairs on their sides against the wall, creating a square of space for Noel. The chairs were spiky, made of shiny metal, hard and sharp, but Noel was tall enough to be able to step over them with ease. He looked at Julian and didn’t attempt to.

Julian put one hand on Noel’s wrist, squeezing it so hard it hurt. Noel thought he could feel the tendons pressing against one another. Julian removed one of the chairs so Noel could step into the circle of enclosed space.

“I don’t want to,” Noel said. He tugged at his hair and looked at it.

“Why not?”

“I’ll…” Noel bit his lip. There were many things he could think of to say. Instead he blinked at Julian and said, “What if you leave? And I can’t get out? And I need to?”

“I’ll look after you,” Julian said, his voice a low rumble. Noel thought about the room spewing clothes. He stepped between the chairs and sat down on the floor as Julian pushed the last one back into place.

“What am I supposed to do here?” Noel said, nibbling at his thumb as he spoke. And then, “is this a punishment for earlier?”

“No,” Julian said. He stroked the top of Noel’s head. “No, Noel.”

Noel sighed and leant into Julian’s touch.

“You stay there. I’ll come back.”

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” Noel said.

“Right back,” Julian promised.

Noel watched him go. He snapped on the kitchen lights as he left and with all the dimness gone, everything looked much too stark. The chair legs gleamed. He could have walked over them easily, and then set them upright around the table where they were supposed to be.

He leant against the wall and put his thumb in his mouth, watching the light reflect against the metal legs in sharp lines of brightness.

Julian came back. He’d brought a sketchpad and some pencils (the pad was small enough that he could use it down here easily), his blanket and a picture book.

“Are you going to read me a story?”

“Yes. And then I have some things to do, so you have to sit here and be good, ok?”

“Blanket?”

Julian smiled and gave it to him.

“Soother?” he asked hopefully.

“If you’re very, very good,” Julian said. The book was called Bruno’s Band. It was about a cat that got left behind by his owners and had to start a band to make a living. Noel listened to the familiar words, rubbing the blanket over the bridge of his nose and wishing Julian would remember to show him the pictures while he read.

When he finished, Julian gave him the book and the sketchpad and Noel settled against the wall. Julian moved around the kitchen first, tidying things that didn’t need to be tidied. Noel looked at the pictures in the book and thought about how cold it was down here and the pink hat in the sun was what made him want to cry.

Julian left the room without saying anything and Noel watched at the doorway and sucked his thumb anxiously. He looked at one of the pictures in the book instead: a train stretched across the page, its carriages full of exciting kinds of cargo. A cat played a violin and sheep gambolled.

He heard the door creak ever so slightly and glanced up through his fringe. He realised abruptly that Julian was just outside the door, watching him and pretending not to. That made Noel feel a lot better. He put the blanket over his shoulder and began to draw with his free hand, gently stroking his nose with his finger with the other.

He stayed quiet, listening to the creaks outside the door as Julian left and then came back. He settled more comfortably in the playpen, lying on his stomach and then his side, amusing himself by drawing parrots playing banjos and goats flying kites. He began to like the feeling of the four walls containing him: he couldn’t do anything else but sit here; he wasn’t allowed to do anything else.

“You were good,” Julian said, coming back at last. “Weren’t you?”

He looked as tense as when he’d just got home. “I was,” Noel said.

Julian removed one of the chairs carefully, and took Noel’s hand, pulling him up. Noel sagged against Julian’s chest, and felt Julian place a heavy hand on his back.

“If you’re going to do that often, you need to buy me something to play with,” Noel said.

“You want me to buy you presents?”

“If you’re going to be all busy and tuck me away, then I’ll need some way of entertaining myself,” Noel said softly. “Can I have a train? With sheep?”

“We’ll see,” Julian said. He’d led them into the bedroom. It was different now. The curtains were still closed, but the lamps were on and it glowed warmly. Julian had tidied up Noel’s scattered piles of clothes. Noel sat on the bed, looking up at him. Julian’s fists were clenched, but he was giving Noel a very familiar stare.

“Soother then?” Noel asked. He’d been promised it. He didn’t really want to do anything other than curl up here where it was safe and bright.

Julian sat down beside him and kissed him hotly. Noel stiffened for a second: the firm lips, the taste of his breathe were a shock, and then grabbed Julian’s shoulders, pulling himself closer. He realised, suddenly, how aroused Julian was.

He pressed his hand to Julian’s crotch, feeling him within the jeans. He broke away from Julian’s lips, and ran his hands over Julian’s thighs. He felt Julian suppress a shiver, breath hot on Noel’s face. He reached for the button on Julian’s jeans and undid them in one motion.

“Julian,” he said softly. “Soother?”

Julian groaned, deep in his throat. Then he stretched across the bed to the drawer where he kept it.

“And the lube,” Noel said, touching his lips with his tongue. Julian looked at him, wordless for a moment, and then removed both objects.

Noel took the soother gently from Julian’s hand, and slid it between his lips. It filled his mouth in its familiar way, smooth and soft, the plastic pressing against his sticky lips. He leant on his elbows back on the bed and sucked softly, looking up at Julian. Julian’s jeans were undone, face flushed, cock hard. Noel smiled around the soother.

He undid the buttons on his own trousers, slid them over his hips. He wasn’t hard, but he thought he could be, perhaps. He took the t-shirt off as well, watching Julian. Julian hadn’t moved, but sat on the bed, eyes on Noel’s torso, his lips, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Don’t you…” he took the soother out. “Don’t you want to?”

“Fuck, Noel,” Julian said. “Fuck.”

He felt Julian’s denim-clad legs against his own, the cloth of Julian’s t-shirt against the bare skin of his torso, as Julian slid over him, hands on either side of Noel’s head, Julian’s weight crushing his own. Julian kissed him again, wet, and then grabbed the soother from Noel’s hand and inserted it back into his mouth.

Noel reached out to help Julian out of his jeans, but Julian caught his wrists, squeezing them, and, when he let go, Noel let them drop loosely beside his head. Julian grabbed his knees, pushing them up towards Noel’s chest, and Noel drew them as close to himself as he could, muscles aching slightly. His arse was revealed now, open, and Julian ran his hand over the cleft, sweaty finger pressing against the hole.

Noel sucked harder, soother moving against his lips. He could tell Julian was glancing at it even as he squirted the lube onto his fingers and pressed them against Noel’s arse. Noel felt them tickling the soft skin, and drew his legs even closer to his chest. The tip of one finger slid within, and for one glorious second Noel thought he was going to get aroused. Then it delved deeper, and another, and he touched the back of his knee with one hand, pulling it closer to him, and whispered, “More,” around the teat, knowing it wouldn’t happen.

Julian slid his fingers out, leaning over him, and kissed the side of his neck, hands crushing Noel’s shoulder as he whispered, again, “fuck, Noel. Fuck.”

Noel watched as he pulled the jeans off, looked at the shape of his face, the movement of his hands. He was moving so fast he was having trouble with the buttons, with getting his feet out, but Noel found himself very aware of every detail, of the creases in the cloth of the trousers, of Julian’s profile in the electric light.

He closed his eyes as Julian leant over him again, picturing the train with its cargo of gambolling sheep, and felt Julian’s fingers touch his skin and then the slow ache of his cock sliding within Noel’s arse. He opened them again, looking at the ceiling, the top of Julian’s head, stroking the smoothness of the soother with his tongue. Julian’s hands were pressed into the duvet next to his sides, and he thought he could see the forearms shaking just a little.

He could feel Julian’s breath against his skin again; hear the sounds of it in his throat. The rhythm was steady, hard; he rocked against it, pressing back into Julian. Julian moaned appreciatively, moving harder. Noel wished the feeling of Julian within him didn’t seem so distant, wished that with every thrust he felt as enthusiastic as Julian appeared to be.

And yet, he loved the site of him, the movement of his neck, patterns of hair on his skin. Julian so often looked at, and touched, the place where his thumb met his lips. He wished he could look at the place where Julian met him and feel the same kind of arousal Julian so obviously did.

He squeezed his muscles around Julian’s intrusion, and felt him moan. He gave a long, gasping sigh himself, and the soother rolled out of his lips and fell beside him on the bed. He felt Julian come in the same moment, hands biting into Noel’s sides.

*

“Are you ok?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Noel rolled over. Sweat still clung to Julian’s skin, his chest damp. He kissed him directly above his left nipple.

“Yes.”

“Did I hurt you?”

Noel pressed himself into Julian’s arms, against his sticky skin. He was trembling, but so slightly he did not think Julian could tell.

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Shh,” Noel said, smiled, and slid his hand down Julian’s side, fingers light on the soft skin.


	15. Now, and Now

It was grey, January grey, constant and dull. He walked around his flat, listening to his feet, the slow sounds of heels. He walked fast enough to bump into things, to set the rooms echoing. It made the thoughts inside his head spiral less terrifyingly.

Eventually the motion stopped assuaging the fear, the sense of mounting panic. He sat in a doorway, running his hands over the frame, making sense of the space. He couldn’t keep still, either; he kicked his feet against the floorboards as if the dull knocking sound they made could flush out the noise inside his head.

It was different, every, every time. It seemed like the memories would mingle with the fictions in his head until he could not tell the reality from the nightmare, the embellishments from the genuine pain. It was that, and only that, that ever made him feel like he was going mad. He would be raped by monsters and shadowy demons rather than a man, or raped by too many men, or too often, or in the wrong scenery. It would happen to someone else, and he would watch. Naked, someone would watch him as he was split open. It made him feel pathetic, childish, more pathetic, more childish than the tremors of revulsion that ran through him so often.

The rage he felt at times like this was not assuageable. It was directed only at himself, at the movement of his arms, the expressions of his face, the rumblings within his body, the tiny, involuntary contractions of his throat. He imagined himself eviscerated.

There was nothing he wanted that rabbit grey January day. He could think of nothing but the movement of hands, of cocks, of the utter exposure he had known. No clothes, he thought, could ever adequately cover him now. He wanted, simply, to no longer exist, to never have existed.

He stuck fingers inside himself, dry and hot. It made him cry and wince. He had hoped it would make him bleed. It was enough to make him retch a little. He tried to stretch himself. He searched, sometimes, inside himself, for something invisible. He did not know what. He only knew that it was not there, was never there, and that forcing himself to do this while he cried and cried made the shame so acute it become something that almost wasn’t shame, it became something that was almost bearable.

He had almost forgotten who Julian was when Julian came to his door. Julian belonged to sanity, to something irrevocable different from this, and when the voice calling his name entered his mind it was almost implacable. But he had never yet been so entirely lost that he could not revert to some semblance of sense, of reality, even when he was sobbing around the two painful fingers inside him.

He opened the door.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“You look…”

“I’m fine.”

“Can I come in?”

He touched his hair. Felt its grease clinging to his scalp. He felt the ache within himself. He hadn’t had time to wash his hand, and that disgusted him slightly.

“I’m…” There weren’t enough words in his head to come up with a proper excuse. Julian touched his cheek. His hand was cold from the day outside; Noel wanted to flinch away from him.

He leant forward instead and kissed Julian’s stubbly cheek. And then his lips. They were cold, too, but warmed under his touch. Julian cupped the back of his head in his hand. Grease. The curve of bone. Noel felt a tongue invading his mouth and then he let Julian go. Julian looked at him.

“Have you had anything to eat?”

“No.”

“Can I take you out somewhere?”

“I don’t want to. Julian. I was in the middle of something. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been crying.”

Noel turned away. He looked at the blanket grey sky and wanted to ring his hands and ring his hands until all the small bones were broken, mush, not even shards. Two parts of himself fought with each other; one wanting Julian, warmth, the other reminding him that he was scum, that he needed to hide, curl into the hole where ooze and mud and all the little blind fish and he deserved to be.

“Can I ring you? Later?” Noel asked.

He looked at the wall, at the blankness that was not Julian. He felt a hand on the back of his neck, and in his hair, and its unexpectedness made him shiver and cringe, but when he heard Julian give him assent and leave he remember the touch and was not sure whether it made him want to cry or made him want to run after Julian and beg him to never, never stop.

*

 _And Now_

“It was nothing.”

Julian was lying on the sofa, facing away from the room. Noel was not quite sure whether he was asleep or not. An eye opened, then closed.

"Mmm. What was nothing?”

“There are fish in caves,” Noel said, “Who don’t have any eyes. They’re adapted to total darkness. The live on bat droppings, mostly.”

“There’s a fish whose anus is his mouth. His beginning is his end,” Julian said. “Fish are weird.”

“Oh,” Noel said. He looked at the top of Julian's head, the thinning hair. He put his thumb on his mouth, but did not suck it, just let it rest on that groove in his palate where it fitted so perfectly.

It was a November day, dark and quiet, and blanket grey. Noel had a real blanket to hide under, now, though, so even on days when he felt like filth, he didn’t feel so exposed.

“Should I live in a cave?” he asked Julian.

“Would you like to?” Julian said. “You could paint on the walls.”

“You never let me here,” Noel agreed. “Not even frescoes.”

“You could pretend to be in the Renaissance anyway. You could wear those baggy sleeves.”

“I do like them,” Noel said. He got off the arm of the sofa and went to sit in the doorway. He ran his fingers over the frame, making sure he knew where his boundaries were. Then he picked up the blanket and hid his face under it, taking slow, gentle breaths. He thought about shadowy rooms and small boys and fingers in his anus.

*

Julian sat down beside him. “How long have you been here?”

Noel slowly lifted away the blanket so he could look up at Julian. “I don’t know.” He remembered Julian lying on the sofa, and now he was awake. He couldn't count the moments between then and now.

“Your eyes get so big when you’re like this,” Julian said, touching his face.

“It always used to be Thursdays. Because we had a class right before the end of the day and he’d ask me to clean up the paint with him. He was always angry with me and I never knew what I did. What day is today?”

“Tuesday.”

“Ok,” Noel said. He put his head on Julian’s shoulders and let out the softest sob he could. “Ok. It was nothing you know. It was a long time ago. You don’t have to worry. Poor Julian. Can I have a nap now, maybe?”

“Of course,” Julian said. His hand was in Noel’s hair. “Of course.” He took Noel’s wrist and led him to their bedroom. Noel sat on the bed, struggling free of his jeans.

“I’ll get you a bottle, hmm? Calm you down?”

Noel looked up at him thoughtfully. He put his thumb in his mouth and sucked properly. “Yes, ok.”

It was dark, now, darker than when he felt it should be. It was sometimes so hard to focus properly on the physical world.

Julian settled next to him on the bed. Noel curled into his side, keeping the blanket firmly in his hand. He rested his head on Julian’s shoulder and Julian put an arm around him and held the teat of the bottle against his lips. Noel sucked it. His mouth was full of sticky wetness—-juice of some kind. He didn’t really want that feeling of liquid sloshing around his gums and oozing between his teeth and down his throat right now, but it was worth it for feeling the teat in his mouth, for the gentle soothing sucking and for Julian looking down at him so gently, containing him so safely.

He murmured sleepily, nestling closer. He could hear Julian’s heartbeat under his cheek. Julian touched his lips with one finger, where they met the bottle. Noel murmured and let go of the plastic and slipped Julian’s finger into his mouth instead. It was wider than the teat but not as wide as his own thumb, and he sucked softly, and closed his eyes.

*

For a long time, he hadn’t known what it felt like to be safe. Awake again, two hours later, cold and afraid, he would cringe and think that he still didn’t know. But in the now, the glorious now, he was, Julian was, they were safe and he wanted it to never, never stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part of the story. There is a sort of AU of this story involving Russell Brand, which I may post soon. For now, the story is over. I've tried to tie it up thematically and I hope it feels complete in some way.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


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